Payback aka Enemy Within part 2
by totallynutso
Summary: A few weeks after Face's brush with appendicitis, he and the team take on a job and run into trouble. Sequel to Enemy Within. Team fic. WARNINGS; for torture, violence and language.


The gentle roll of the ebbing surf, and the cool early morning breeze accompanied Hannibal and Face on their morning run, jogging on the damp, golden sand along an expanse of beach that stretched for miles. The sun had just risen and already the heat of the day was revealing itself... it was going to be another beautiful day in Daytona, Florida.

Slowing a little, Hannibal waited for Face to catch up when the younger man started falling behind.

"You okay?" the colonel asked, a touch of concern in his voice. He looked at Face carefully, watching for any signs of pain.

"Yeah, c'mon," Face nodded and resumed their pace. Hannibal frowned slightly as his partner threw him a wide smile instantly hiding whatever was showing on his face, but he started running again.

Any other time, it wouldn't have been an issue. Face was a grown man, an experienced soldier, and could take care of himself better than anyone Hannibal knew, but it was only four weeks ago that he'd nearly lost him. Only four weeks since Face had nearly died from appendicitis. And not only that... Hannibal still had nightmares where Martine Genoa had succeeded with her sick and deadly plan and his boy was dead. He still had nightmares where he was too late and Face died in his arms, his guts spilling all over the bed before he could stitch him up... The nightmares varied, but always ended the same; Face dying.

And Hannibal couldn't help that fierce need to protect his lieutenant, to the point of driving the man crazy.

To anyone that looked at Face, he seemed completely recovered. But to Hannibal, whose eyes saw the twinges Face tried to hide and the Tylenol he took when he thought no one could see, well Hannibal knew differently.

They'd only just started this regime of jogging in the early morning, after Face had stubbornly told Hannibal that he had to do something, he could feel his muscles wasting away. Face had wanted to join the local gym with BA, but when the big guy came home with a split lip after being challenged to a sparring match one evening, Hannibal quickly put a stop to that idea. He knew Face too well, knew the young man wouldn't say no if challenged either.

Murdock offered to go swimming with him, but Face had said that wasn't exercise enough. The lieutenant felt like a coiled spring. Weeks of sickness and inactivity had left him full of pent up energy that was screaming to be released. Okay, so there was a persistent soreness in his stomach that still ached, and stabs of pain occasionally stole his breath if he twisted sharply, but Face needed to control it, he needed to be 100% if the team was to have any more serious jobs.

And that was another thing.

Since the appendicitis episode, their funds had depleted dangerously low. Hannibal had insisted on safe, low key, small pocket change jobs that made them just enough to put food in the cupboards... but they couldn't survive on two-bit jobs and miracles anymore. They needed to work, Face needed to work.

It still hurt Face when he remembered that day...

"_We're one man down, kids," Hannibal repeated again. Face closed his eyes and sighed, instantly regretting it when he felt cool hands on his forehead. He shook them off with a frustrated grunt._

"_I'm fine, Murdock," he mumbled and shrugged away from the frowning pilot. He looked up at Hannibal, "I'm fine, boss, I can do my job."_

_BA grunted into his milk and Face glared at him._

"_Face, you're still recovering from surgery," Hannibal sighed and held his hand up when the lieutenant tried to speak. "And let's not forget to mention running around with your guts nearly spilling out when you should've been doped up and resting." He handed BA and Murdock a copy of the latest job._

_Face raised his brows waiting for his copy and frowned when Hannibal gave him a pained look instead. He pushed back in his chair and winced when his side jarred and a twinge shot up his spine._

"_Now see, Facey?" Murdock chided. "You gotta take care, buddy." He got up and handed Face his pain killers and a bottle of water, which he begrudgingly took._

"_You're sitting this one out, kid," Hannibal said trying to ignore the angry glare directed at him. But, it was for the best. Face was still in pain and, it aggrieved Hannibal to even think it, he could be a liability if a case went wrong._

Although Hannibal didn't say it, Face saw in the older man's eyes that he doubted his Second in Command's abilities in the field. And that made his chest ache and his heart break.

Pushing those memories aside, Face increased his speed. His trainers kicked up the sand as he went, leaving long strides of prints that were washed away by the waves. Hannibal automatically sped up, easily keeping pace with the younger man, throwing glances at him every few seconds. Sweat soon formed a V on the chest of Face's light blue vest, but it was the grin that caught Hannibal's eye. He watched as Face pushed through whatever demons filled his head, and pushed past any pain that lingered within.

Eventually the pair stopped when they reached a rock barrier. The beach carried on the other side, but they decided that was enough. Face planted his hands on his hips and upturned his face to the warmth of the sun, eyes closed behind his sunglasses, out of breath but controlling his breathing steadily. Hannibal moved in close, placed two fingers against Face's neck and mentally counted heart beats.

Face squinted at Hannibal when he felt the soft touch and saw the man looking at his watch. He sighed internally. Mother hen.

"I'm fine, boss," he murmured. The fingers disappeared. Face took off his glasses and blinked at Hannibal, his blue eyes bright and clear... a far cry from the sunken, pale, pain filled ones that tore at Hannibal's heart only weeks ago.

"You sure? No pain?" Hannibal asked, his gaze falling towards Face's right side where he knew the scar was, now hidden under his vest. Face ran his hand along his belly with a smile.

"Not even a twinge," he fibbed, looking sheepish and winking when Hannibal's brows rose. "Okay, but I'm good, seriously. I feel good."

The heat of the day was increasing fast, but the breeze from the ocean cooled them down, flapping the loose material of Hannibal's T shirt against his sweaty body. He gripped the edges and pulled it off, swiping it across his face and chest before tucking a corner securely into the waistband of his shorts.

A dog barked nearby and Hannibal grinned as he petted the wet, soggy fur of the golden retriever that had bounded up to him, tail wagging, its owner soon appearing from behind the rocks.

Face stood, huge smile in place, and watched the dog and Hannibal frolic in the sea.

"I'm sorry, she gets a little excited by the water," a voice sounded behind Face. He turned to see a young woman with a dog leash in her hand.

"C'mon girl, leave the nice man alone!"

"S'okay, he loves dogs," Face offered as Hannibal splashed the water at the dog and she jumped up playfully. The woman laughed, her pretty face shining in the morning sunlight, and Face smiled.

"Alice," she introduced herself and stuck out her hand. Face took it in his.

"Templeton," he answered lightly, eyes meeting hers. Alice blinked, slightly amused.

"That's quite a name," she told him, "Nice though. Suits you."

Chuckling, Face looked over at Hannibal again and noted the smirk playing on the man's lips as Alice moved closer to Face, clearly flirting.

"Nice dog," Hannibal called from the surf, "What's her name?"

"Sally," Alice shouted back, and the dog splashed back to her. Hannibal grinned at Face as he waded through the gently rolling waves until he was by his side.

"So, you ready to head back, kid?"

"Um, would you like to have coffee with me?" Alice asked boldly, directing the question to Face, throwing small challenging glances at Hannibal, which the colonel blatantly ignored.

Fighting the urge to laugh, Face stretched his arms wide, knowing full well that his muscles would ripple under the wet vest clinging to his body, and grinned inwardly as the woman's hungry eyes devoured him.

Oh yeah, he still had it!

"Sorry, honey, I do have to get back," he apologised sweetly to Alice. The woman sighed and grabbed Face's arm.

"Call me," she breathed softly and scribbled a phone number in pen across his skin. Hannibal watched amused.

Face just smiled at her before he and Hannibal jogged away.

"You gonna call her?" Hannibal asked half way down the beach. Face laughed.

"I might do, yeah. You want me see if she has a sister, boss?" he winked.

"No!" Hannibal growled, and then smirked, "Hell will freeze over the day I go on another blind date set up by you, kid."

ooo

"Hey, Facey, you want chocolate chips with your pancakes?" Murdock asked as soon as Hannibal and Face entered the kitchen. "Why're you all wet an' covered in sand, bossman?"

BA looked up, rolled his eyes, and then stuck his head back into the sports section on the morning paper.

"Oh, didya do that scene in the movie _From Here To Eternity_?" the pilot grinned, his eyes laughing. Hannibal stared at him as Face chuckled. "Y'know the one... kissin' in the waves..."

Pulling his soaking shirt from his waistband, Hannibal flung it in the laundry room shaking his head.

"Yeah HM," Face answered Murdock with a cheeky grin and a wink, "He was Deborah Kerr to my Burt Lancaster!"

Hannibal stopped midstride to his bedroom, and Murdock whistled.

"Oooo Faceguy, you're gonna get it now!" he sing-songed as Hannibal stalked back into the kitchen and manhandled Face out again, the younger man laughing and calling futilely for help all the way to the bathroom to shower before breakfast.

"No, man, you're on your own!" Murdock shouted back with a huge grin.

ooo

With breakfast finished and the second pot of coffee brewing, the team sat contented, chatting around the table.

"So, boss, next job?" Face asked. He leaned forward before Hannibal could answer and added, "Because I just checked the finances yesterday and it's getting a little worrying."

Hannibal looked at Face and reluctantly accepted that he was ready for work now, that he'd recovered remarkably well from the appendicitis, and although he'd like Face to have at least another month taking it easy, knew the kid would fight him on that.

"Okay, kid, what do you have?" he relented, sighing at Face's answering grin. The LT reached for the newspaper and opened the classifieds.

They didn't advertise their services for obvious reasons, but general knowledge was widely assumed that The A-Team found potential clients either by recommendation and word of mouth, or sometimes through the newspaper classifieds.

And since they'd laid low for a while, the latter was the source right now.

"Here," Face pointed to a small note hidden in the classified section. It was small, inconspicuous but looked desperate.

"'_#N196402. Family getaway. Hurry, price won't last! Call Mr Lee of A-Tours 265 662 4272'_"

Murdock blinked and mentally ran through the telephone number in his head, his lips working silently as the numbers rearranged themselves into letters. "Colombia, South America," he murmured a moment later.

Nodding, Face looked up. "Anything out of that place has to be desperate," he commented.

Hannibal blew out a breath and pursed his lips. It was always hit and miss with the classifieds. They had to be extra cautious because the authorities were sneaky enough to plant bogus ones to draw them out, but sometimes they were legit.

"Okay, kid, post the reply," he nodded. Face jumped up and grabbed the non-traceable, disposable cell phone and rang the newspaper, informing them that the ad, #N196402, had the wrong telephone number printed, and could they change it. Thus discretely providing a contact number for the potential client.

Twenty four hours later, they had a reply.

)()()(

The waves swelled loudly around the barnacle covered struts of the pier, and Hannibal paced impatiently watching Face fling small pebbles into the water. He pulled out his radio. "Any sign of him yet?"

"No, bossman," Murdock's tinny voice crackled over the din of the rolling water. Face checked his watch.

"We still have a few minutes," he noted. Hannibal nodded. Following the initial telephone exchange (from which Murdock had traced the call and quickly provided a location for BA and Face to check out), and then after an extensive background investigation revealing the client, a Mister Armand DeSimone was indeed legitimate, the team decided to look at the case.

This was their first meet.

And the client was late.

"That's it," Hannibal decided when his watch bleeped the hour. The client was late, it was time to go. Face nodded grimly, but he agreed. There was no room for mistakes in this business, and waiting around was a mistake.

"Murdock-"

"Wait, bossman, he's here," Murdock cut in. "Blue shirt, tan pants, back pack."

Hannibal lifted his binoculars and pinpointed the man. Yes, that was Armand DeSimone.

"You're late," he muttered when the man joined them under the pier. Armand looked at his watch.

"Three minutes," he said, like it shouldn't matter and Hannibal bristled. Face stepped in front of the colonel.

"You have to understand, Mr DeSimone, that in our business three minutes could mean the difference between life and death."

Okay, so it sounded a touch clichéd, but he was damned right! And he could hear Hannibal's jaw working hard; the man was pissed. This was not a good start.

"I apologise," Armand said and Hannibal relaxed slightly. A wave crashed against the struts and echoed around the underneath of the pier startling Armand for a second. When he turned to the men again, Face was looking at him, waiting.

"You have the information we asked for?" Face asked, all business. Armand pulled out an envelope from his back pack and handed it over, his dark eyes moistening with a sudden dampness.

"We're desperate, please," he said quietly. "My daughter... she's going to die if you don't get her away from that monster. Her and her children!"

Face opened the envelope and pulled out a wad of papers and a small cell phone. He looked questioningly at Armand.

"Her last message to me," he murmured sadly. "I thought you should hear it, too."

Face played the massage...

"_Papa, you have to help us... he's going to kill me, kill my babies. Please, papa, help me... No, Emilio, no... Wait... Arghh-_" And the message abruptly stopped.

Hannibal asked the obvious. "You're sure she's still alive, Mr DeSimone?"

Sitting heavily on the cold sand, Armand buried his face in his hands. Hannibal and Face exchanged looks.

"She is. I received a postcard three days ago, it's in the envelope."

The item, a picture postcard from Bogota, had no message on it. Face looked confused.

"She has a friend, one of Emilio's security guards, that sends me the cards for her, to let me know my daughter still lives," Armand explained.

Flicking through the papers about Emilio Esteban with a scowl on his face, Hannibal blew out a breath. "Why haven't you tried to get your daughter away from Esteban through the proper channels?"

"I have," he answered frustrated. "But that bastard has money. He's a drug lord. He's rich. He _owns_ the authorities, he bought my daughter-"

"Bought?" Face blinked.

"Yes, bought! I had no control. She was eighteen. Eighteen! Naive and in love, and his money and power... He seduced her into this life, and won't let her go."

Both Face and Hannibal frowned. Was Armand DeSimone absolutely sure his daughter wanted to leave? Money and Power were strong temptations, whatever the situation.

"I'll pay you anything you want!" Armand blurted desperately. Face sighed.

"Look, Mr DeSimone-"

"Her children, _my_ grandchildren are innocent," the man interrupted hastily before Face could finish. "They're only six and four years old. A month ago, Gloria saw Emilio murder a man in cold blood. He beat her to within an inch of her life, and killed the children's dog in front of them. Threatened that if she _ever_ told anyone... he'd kill her, and Sofia and Emilio Jr too." Armand stood up and pleaded with Hannibal and Face, "They're just children. Please..."

Okay, that changed things; Gloria and her children were in serious danger.

"How do you know this?" Hannibal asked.

"The murder was reported in a Colombian newspaper. The guard sent me a copy with a small note," Armand said.

"Do you have the note?" Face frowned looking in the envelope, knowing that every scrap of evidence would be handy to hold on to in case they needed it. But Armand shook his head.

"No, I couldn't have anything trace back to Gloria. Emilio would have killed her."

Hannibal stuffed the papers back into the envelope. "This job, if we take it Mr DeSimone, is not going to be cheap," he said seriously.

Armand pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. It was a bank statement, dated that day.

"This is everything I have. If it's not enough, I can sell my house, get more," he said and looked anxiously at the two men in front of him frowning at the statement that stated the amount; $87,262.91.

For The A-Team, this was another pocket change job.

"We'll be in touch," Hannibal said and turned to leave, Face by his side.

"Please, Mr Smith, please," Armand implored, his hands out stretched. It made Hannibal and Face uncomfortable, but they could see the desperation in the tears rolling down the man's cheeks. His family was in serious danger, and no one else would help him get them safe.

Pocket change job or not, The A-Team couldn't let this monster, Emilio Esteban, kill innocent children and their mother.

With a quick look at Face, Hannibal turned to Armand, "You just hired yourself The A-Team," he decided. "Stay by the phone."

ooo

"Boss, this job is gonna leave us out of pocket," Face murmured as they climbed into the van with BA and Murdock.

"What's that?" Murdock piped up when he heard. "Is this _another_ charity job, bossman?"

"Aw man, Hannibal... My girl needs a new chassis," BA moaned as he started the van.

"The chassis is fine, BA, it's just a small dent," Hannibal tried to reason with the big guy. BA just scowled at him.

"Ain't the point, Hannibal."

Sighing, Hannibal turned to Face and saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He frowned concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Face nodded and smiled convincingly. Hannibal patted the kid's knee and pulled out the envelope again, and briefly went over the case with BA and Murdock. After a few minutes, BA's knuckles were white on the steering wheel and Murdock's eyes were wide with anger.

"That bastard! Beating their mom an' killin' the dog _in front _of those little babies? Bossman, we gotta get them outta there," he said heatedly, muttering lowly, "ain't no place for kid's with a dog killin' maniac!"

"BA?" Hannibal probed, noting the deadly expression on his hard set face.

"Yeah, man, we goin' to get those kids an' their mom," he growled making the leather of the steering wheel creak under the pressure of his fists.

"Okay then, as time isn't on our side here, you're gonna have to scam us a plane, Face," Hannibal said ignoring the warning grunt from BA. With a tight budget, they had to now make do with what they could get. "I'll get the papers for Gloria and her kid's drawn up. Murdock, research this Esteban guy. I want _everything_ there is on him, his associates _and_ their friends... BA..." The big guy threw him a look. "Weapons, ordnance. We're gonna need firepower on this one."

ooo

A day later, with Armand DeSimone's money, Hannibal had Gloria Esteban and her children's US identities ready, and Murdock had a huge amount of information on one Emilio Juan Cristos Esteban, born Bogota, Colombia, May 1962. Only son of Emilio Videl Esteban, known drug lord, convicted and executed in 1963.

Or so it was reported. Murdock managed to find old archive newspaper articles in an online library information bank, stating that the body of one Emilio V. Esteban was never actually buried, a fact discovered after the grave was pillaged a few years after he died.

A little sweet talking and flirting with a records dept office worker in Colombia produced a death certificate for one Emilio _Tomas_ Esteban dated 1989.

And by then daddy had built quite an empire for Emilio Junior!

When Esteban Sr died, his son took over the business, and had a reputation for being ruthless and dangerous. One of the biggest drug lords in South America, and the authorities had no hold over him, as his money and power stretched fingers literally into every government body.

In his little corner of the world, Emilio was king.

Getting Gloria and her children out safely was going to be a hell of a challenge.

"His place is a fortress, bossman," Murdock said as he pulled out a map. He took a red crayon and circled a substantial plot of land. "The house is in the middle. Big, big house, with lots of jungle in the grounds, swimming pool and huge garages for Senor Esteban's wacky vehicle collection. Seriously, it's even rumoured he's got the _original_ Little Bastard, y'know, James Dean's evil Porsche that disappeared in 1960 to never be seen again?" he said, eyes twinkling as he pulled out an aerial photograph taken with night vision and infrared. Hannibal's brows rose. "Oh, friend of mine likes to take pictures at night and fly into airspace that's off limits," the pilot grinned.

Murdock had gone missing for a few hours the night before, now Hannibal knew where he'd disappeared to.

"You serious about Little Bastard?" BA asked awe in his voice. Being a mechanic and car enthusiast, the Porsche 550 Spyder was legendary. Murdock nodded wildly. "You kiddin'!"

"No, I'm not. But just imagine, Bosco, the _original_ Little Bastard. Ah man, to just _look_ at it, _touch_ it..."

"Nah, don't believe it. James Dean's car was wrecked and sold as scrap. Besides, the thing is cursed, so if it _is _true, I wouldn't go near the thing if I were you," Face shrugged secretly curious himself.

"Boys," Hannibal interrupted with a tone usually directed at distracted five year olds, "Back to the plan."

BA and Face grinned and nodded.

"Sorry bossman," Murdock smiled sheepishly. He pointed to the photograph, "There're seventeen little red dots, but they could be guards, or sneaky animals wanting a slice of the Esteban fortune, can't really tell."

Face fished out a graphic version of the photo, showing the dimensions of the plot of land. "Looks like fucking Fort Knox," he murmured, "And surrounded by jungle on three sides. Nowhere for a plane to land close." He looked at the map, "here, we can land the Cessna here, find a truck or something, or hike in and our evil maniac of the week, Esteban, has a handy little helicopter that I'm sure he'll let us borrow to get outta there," he suggested. Hannibal cocked his head and nodded.

"A Cessna? Aw Faceman, you scammed a Cessna? That ain't a plane!" BA complained after listening with dismay the mention of not one, but two aircraft, and come on... a Cessna was a _toy_!

"Bosco, it ain't the craft, it's all about the pilot," Murdock explained slowly with a huge, toothy smile.

"You crazy fool! Shut up," BA grumbled and frowned down at the maps and photographs again.

Hannibal poured himself a refill of coffee and sat down, pursing his lips when Face stole a sip. He picked up the information provided by Armand, via the guard friendly with Gloria, and looked at the rough sketch of the mansion layout. Gloria's quarters clearly marked.

"It's gonna be a tricky one," he sighed. Gloria and her children, if confined to their rooms, were located in the back of the house, high up, and backed onto open grounds with the Olympic sized swimming pool and patio areas. Too open for a straight forward break in and retrieval op.

"What about the staff entrance?" BA suggested. His finger followed a path of corridors that led to a pump house just below and to the right of the rooms. "Night op, into the pump house, up through the roof..." he trailed up to the roof area, "and through that window."

Hannibal's mind visually worked out the plan and he nodded. They'd be exposed for a short amount of time, and the staff entrance was conveniently close to the garages, where they could make a fast getaway to the helicopter that, by the look of the aerial picture, sat in the clearing behind.

That part would be risky. With a woman and two kids, the run from the pump house to the garages was open and would be the most unpredictable part of the plan.

But they'd address that when they got to it.

A couple of hours later, the team knew the plan inside and out, and after a quick call to Armand DeSimone, they headed towards the small airfield and the scammed Cessna, packed to the eyes with ordnance.

ooo

It took a good few hours plus to fly to their destination in Colombia, refuelling the twin engine craft along the way (which Murdock enjoyed, playing the scam for the fuel with Face), and while the pilot manned the cockpit and BA slept, thanks to a strong sedative, Face and Hannibal went over the plan again.

"This is gonna be one helluva job, boss," Face murmured looking over the map, his finger tracing the route to the house from the airfield. It took them through the South American jungles, and the terrain was hazardous.

Hannibal frowned and looked at Face, concern etched on his face. "You gonna be okay, kid?"

"Yeah, man, I'll be okay," Face murmured. Hannibal leaned back and sighed. He wasn't so sure his lieutenant was being entirely honest with him.

"Face-"

"Hannibal, I'm alright," Face quickly interrupted softly. "Okay, sometimes I get a twinge, but it's just residual pain. _I'm_ a hundred percent healthy, I'm alright."

The images of Face lying there with his guts nearly spilling out along with all that blood and pain assaulted his mind again and Hannibal closed his eyes. He felt Face move next to him...

"Boss, listen to me. I'm not lying or trying to con you. I'm telling you the truth. I am just fine," Face said and smiled.

"You sure?" Hannibal asked Face one last time. Face nodded. He was going to be just fine.

ooo

The sounds of monkeys and birds filled the air as the team trudged into the jungle. It truly was a beautiful place, but they knew the dangers it harboured, and just to remind them, Murdock gave a wide berth to a colourful snake he saw wrap itself round a tree branch.

The curious eyes of the South American creatures watched the team as they made their way through the dense vegetation, slashing at huge native leaves to create a path easier to follow.

It was tough going, and with their packs laden with supplies and weapons, and the heat of the late afternoon sun wearing on them, Hannibal called a halt. He hefted off his pack before helping Face with his, noticing the small wince when the man twisted his torso as he handed him a canteen.

"Another twenty three clicks north west," the colonel said and wiped his face. He checked his watch, noted the time and tipped his own canteen, swallowing thirstily. "Should be there by dark."

The clearing where they'd landed was miles away from anywhere and procuring a vehicle was quickly realised to be out of the question. But that couldn't be helped in the vast jungles of South America, and it had been kind of expected. It was fortuitous that Esteban had a convenient way of escape for them.

Chuckling turned heads to see BA staring wide eyed at a small rodent like creature taking residence on the weathered log he was sitting on, munching happily on a juicy grub.

"I think he likes you," Murdock chuckled again and hefted his backpack back on to his shoulders. "True love, hey, guys?"

Hannibal just shook his head. "Okay, boys, move out," he said instead, picking up his machete, and the team was on its way again.

)()()(

Gloria Esteban sat gingerly on her bed, sucking in a breath when her ribs grated together at the movement.

Damn her husband. She'd only wanted a swim. The beating he gave her left her with a split lip, black eyes and cracked ribs. The rape, this time, had been surprisingly calmer than the last though. At least he hadn't torn her again.

Her children quietly climbed onto the bed with her and carefully hugged her, tears staining their pale cheeks.

"Why did papa hit you again, mama?" Sofia asked, her big brown eyes swimming. Gloria pulled her daughter to her and stroked her black hair from her face, smiling sadly.

She had no answer for her.

Emilio Jr sniffled and sucked on his thumb, his small body trembling as he laid his head on his mama's knee. Gloria looked down and sighed shakily.

What was she going to do?

ooo

"One more word out of that bitch, and I want her and those bastard kids disappeared!" growled Emilio Esteban. He knocked back his whiskey and poured another.

"Emilio... los niños, they are yours," reminded his right hand man. Emilio slammed his glass down, sloshing liquor over his fingers.

"Fuck you, Miguel!" The man blew out a breath when his cell rang and he snapped the device open. "What?"

Miguel waited, listening to the one sided conversation.

"I don't _care_! I want ten million for the shipment, no less. If your man doesn't want to pay that, then I find business elsewhere!" Emilio shouted into his cell. "And let me remind you who the number one supplier in Colombia is. You understand, si? Bueno!"

"Problems?" Miguel asked.

"No," Emilio shook his head and sat down, smiling coldly. "I want Senor Fleishman's head in a box after this deal is done," he decided. The in between man had made his _last_ mistake... Emilio Esteban does _not_ negotiate on price for his merchandise.

"Very well, sir," Miguel nodded and left his boss to his whiskey and bad mood. He sighed on the way to the kitchen to pick up a bag of ice, before quietly making his was to Gloria's room.

"Here, put this on your face," he suggested softly, wincing at the angry red puffiness surrounding Gloria's eyes, "And I'll go fetch the nurse."

"Thanks, Miguel," she murmured trying not to disturb her sleeping son. Sofia watched silently, tears still spiking her long lashes. "Have you heard anything from my father?"

Miguel shook his head. "I'm sorry." He sat down and frowned. "I could still try and get you out?"

"No, I can't risk that. Emilio would kill you, me and the children before we even got out of the house."

"He's gonna kill you anyway," Miguel shrugged sadly, and Gloria closed her eyes. She knew that. Ever since she'd seen her husband shoot that man in cold blood... she knew her days were numbered.

She just wanted her children safe.

Miguel stood and held her hand. "Help will come. Your papa will get help to come," he said, praying he was telling her the truth.

)()()(

Darkness fell over the South American jungle like a black curtain, the only light from the moon filtering through the thick treetops.

"Ow," Murdock hissed when a branch slapped into his face. He glared at BA. "You did that on purpose this time, Bosco!"

BA threw a satisfied growl his way and carried on. All through the jungle, the pilot had dropped comments about BA's new best friend, and the big guy had slowly had enough.

Face and Hannibal covered the rear silently, the colonel keeping one eye on the jungle and the other on the kid. But Face seemed to have made the trek easily, much to Hannibal's relief.

"I don't think Billy wants to be friends with your new furry best bud, now," Murdock's voice grumbled shooting BA a pout worthy of a three year old in full sulk mode.

"That's fine by me, fool, Billy ain't even a real dog," BA countered and let another branch fly back, this time narrowly missing Murdock's head, but the pilot grinned.

"So, you admit it, you _are _best buds! Furry best buds!" he declared with a hint of glee. BA's eyes widened and he growled menacingly, furious that he'd walked right into that one.

Hannibal stepped in before BA could do damage to their pilot. "Knock it off, boys. BA, back off."

"But, bossman-"

"He ain't all there, Hannibal," BA shrugged obviously, and Murdock scowled at him shocked before giving himself a good once over, counting limbs and fingers.

"Yes, I am!"

Face watched from the rear, a small smile playing on his lips, and he welcomed the little distraction. So far he'd put up a good front, and had managed to fool Hannibal, and the others, that he was 100% alright. When the truth was... he wasn't.

But that didn't matter. What mattered were those two children and their mother, and getting them safely away from that monster.

He was good at hiding his pain, always had been, and with a simple appendicitis recovery period being around four to six weeks, it made it easier to convince his team that he was healing well.

Face's case had been far from simple though. And lingering aches and sharp pains still took his breath away.

If he was honest with himself, he knew he needed a handful of Tylenol and a few days _not_ slogging at a relentlessly rapid pace through the stifling jungles of South America, and his belly, still tender (but he'd _never_ admit that to Hannibal), reminded him of that with every step.

"Keep it down, boys, seems we've reached our destination," Hannibal's voice hissed as the thick jungle opened to reveal the alien presence of a tall brick wall, and Face forced himself to refocus on the mission again.

Esteban's estate was surrounded by the high structure, with CCTV camera's placed at strategic points along the perimeter. The team quietly hunkered down in the rough foliage next to the wall and pulled out black shirts and beanies from their back-packs before putting into effect the next part of their plan.

During his research, Murdock ascertained the properties security details, and disabling one of the cameras for a few seconds was as easy as pi.

"Okay, we'll have twenty three seconds before the camera refocuses," Murdock murmured as he yanked on his beanie and pulled out his small tool kit. "We'll have to be over the wall and clear by then," he added obviously.

The team, now in black and heavily armed, silently scaled the wall and waited perched on the top until Murdock did his thing, and then they stealthily flew into action, jumping down and quickly moving off.

The grounds usefully provided cover for them as they approached the main house. Hannibal pulled out an infrared detector and swept the area.

"Two guards at one hundred yard intervals around the house. Two bodies in the front of the building, three in the back. That has to be Gloria and her kids," he whispered when he saw that two of those three infrared blobs were slightly smaller, but he still added cautiously, "If the layout we got is accurate."

BA pulled out the weapons and handed each of them an extra clip for their Glock's and readied their assault rifles.

"The staff quarters look quiet... hold on. Shit!"

Three sets of eyes snapped up. "What is it, bossman?" Murdock hissed hurriedly.

"Dogs," Hannibal groaned and lowered the detector.

"Good job I brought this then," Face grinned and pulled out a tranquiliser gun. Hannibal smiled and looked pleased at his lieutenant.

"Good thinking, kid," he winked and took the gun, loading it with as many darts as it would take. "Okay, we need take out the dogs quietly."

"Hey, I could do my pig impersonation," Murdock offered pulling out his night vision goggles. "Dogs like a bit of ham, Billy told me."

Ignoring BA's snort, Hannibal nodded, and the two disappeared into the darkness. Two minutes later, Face and BA blinked amused at the pig noises. As crazy as he was, the pilot was pretty good!

Barking was then heard and they both instinctively raised their guns. "Man, I hate dogs," the big guy grumbled as the barking got nearer.

"I know what you mean," Face agreed, eyes peeled behind his own night vision goggles, darting this way and that in the darkness.

Then silence.

"Hannibal?" Face whispered into the night as the quiet dragged on, his gun cocked and ready. The deathly stillness closed in and Face could feel the sweat roll uncomfortably down his back.

"Right here, kid," Hannibal answered back.

"Fuck, boss," Face breathed harshly and lowered his weapon. Murdock knelt next to him and rummaged through the back pack for the C4 explosives they'd brought, for diversions.

"You got 'em all?" BA asked stuffing the explosives into his pockets.

"Yeah, they're sleepin' like puppies," Murdock answered with a grin. He turned to Face, "Here, Facey, fill your pockets with C4 juicy goodness."

"Thanks," Face murmured and packed the items well in his cargo pants.

Hannibal pulled out his map and studied it, glancing up at the house through his night vision goggles, his mind working fast.

"Okay, we plant the C4 along here," he instructed quietly as the team looked at the map, "and set timers for twenty minutes. BA and Murdock take the rear. Face, you and me will go get the woman and her kids."

"What about the guards?" BA asked, looking at the infrared detector again. "They ain't moved," he added curiously.

"Nope. We're in the middle of a stronghold, dogs, CCTV, guns... Who in their right minds would break into Esteban's house in the middle of the night?" Hannibal grinned, the jazz shining in his blue eyes. "They're not expecting us. Element of surprise, my dear boys. That's our gain, and their downfall."

"Ah man, Hannibal's on the jazz," BA muttered. Face and Murdock nodded.

"Murdock, ten minutes, and then get to the chopper. Wait until you get the signal before you start her up. BA, you lay cover fire." He stuffed the map into his back pack. "Okay boys, let's go save a family."

They planted the C4, and while BA and Murdock took positions to cover them, Face and Hannibal stealthily snuck into the staff's entrance.

The place was dark with no windows, sparsely decorated, but it was clear, and using hand signals, Hannibal indicated the way to Gloria's rooms, and the two silently followed the hallway, guns poised and ready for anything, or anyone.

The darkness was no match for their night vision goggles, and Face called a quick halt when he found what looked like an office.

"We've no time for this, Face," Hannibal mouthed, but Face held up one finger – one minute, as his eyes caught sight of something, and Hannibal tersely nodded.

Less than forty seconds later, Face came out with a case. "Cocaine," he mouthed. And his grin matched Hannibal's as they both thought the same thing. Anything that pissed Esteban off even more than stealing away his family, as well as ridding the world of this particular case of poison, well that was a _good_ thing.

They quickly stashed the cocaine on the roof of the pump room as they climbed up through the flue hatch. The moon barely illuminated the area, and in their black clothes, Face and Hannibal thankfully weren't easily noticeable.

The picture window to Gloria's room was locked, but a quick twiddle of Face's lock pick and his skills made very light work of that.

"Gloria?" Hannibal whispered softly in the dark. He could make out her shape under the covers of her bed and approached carefully. Face stood watch at the window.

"Please," came a woman's muffled voice, desperate and scared to death.

"Your father sent us to get you and the children out," Hannibal quickly reassured her, and Gloria flung back the sheet and sat up, a mixture of relief and utter surprise on her face. Hannibal winced at the bruises littering the poor woman's skin. "Where are the kids?" he asked quickly. Gloria eased out of bed, her arm protectively wrapped around her chest, and hurried to an adjacent room.

"Hannibal, c'mon," Face hissed from the window, tapping his watch. There was going to be quite an explosive C4 display in twelve minutes.

Hannibal started towards the next room when Gloria came through the door with a little girl and boy. He grabbed a sheet off the bed and gave it to Gloria, and picked up the girl.

"Hey, beautiful," he murmured softly. "You wanna go see your grandfather?"

Sofia blinked, glanced at her mama, who nodded, and then smiled. "Yes please, mister."

Face grabbed the boy, and they quickly and quietly headed out of the window, and to freedom.

In the pump room, Hannibal handed Sofia back to her mama and took Emilio Jr from Face, who was visibly struggling under the slight weight of the boy.

A questioning look turned to concern when Face bit hard at his lip and pressed his arm to his side. On the way through the window, Emilio Jr had gripped too tightly, and a small bony knee had jerked painfully into Face's belly, bruising already tender muscles. A sheen of sweat on his face had Hannibal now worrying about his lieutenant.

"Are you alright?" Gloria asked when she saw Face pale and carefully breath through his mouth.

"Yeah, c'mon," he answered and grabbed the case. Gloria's eyes widened and she looked horrified at him.

"That's... What're you doing with that?" she asked as Hannibal took the case.

"Annoying your husband," Hannibal said, "We're gonna destroy this cocaine, don't worry."

"He'll kill you," she said, tears in her eyes.

"No he won't," Hannibal shook his head. He glanced at his watch and looked across the yard to where he knew BA was and fingered his radio. "You ready, BA?"

"Anytime, Hannibal," BA's gruff voice sounded tense over the radio.

"Murdock?"

"A-1 okay, bossman. Flight Murdock is sitting pretty and lonely on the heli-pad, just waitin' for lil' ol' me to start her up," Murdock answered cheerfully. His voice made Emilio Jr smile and Hannibal winked at him.

"Okay, two minutes then get her hot, kid," Hannibal finished and looked at Gloria and her kids. "You ready?"

Of the plan, this was the tricky part. They all looked at Hannibal wide eyed, but they nodded.

"On three," he said and Face grabbed Emilio Jr's hand, "One... Two...THREE!"

And they sprinted across the open yard, Gloria dragging Sofia, Face now carrying the boy, while BA's sharp eyes pinpointed trouble and fired his weapon.

"Hurry up, man," the big guy called to Face as he fired off another volley of bullets. "They comin'!"

Face sucked in a breath and pushed down the pain, and forced his legs to move faster.

"Here, give me the boy," BA said quickly and traded his weapon for Emilio Jr, and Face turned on his heels and started firing at the men headed for them.

"Get him out of here, BA!" he shouted yanking out the empty magazine and efficiently clipping in another. He fired as BA disappeared behind the garages with the Emilio Jr clinging to the big man for dear life.

Face, satisfied the boy was at a safe distance, sprayed another volley of bullets across the yard before running towards the helicopter.

"Face, move it," he heard through the comm. unit, Hannibal's voice sharp in his ear. He could hear the whir of the rotor blades and his heart, thumping hard against his chest, speeded up.

_Just a few more metres, you can do it, Face... run faster_, he frantically urged himself, ducking and weaving, dodging the bullets Esteban's men were shooting at him.

His team, Gloria and the children were safely secured on the helicopter, and Murdock had the craft hovering a foot off the ground, waiting for Face to board.

"Face, run!" he heard Hannibal shout from the open door over the loud bursts of cover fire, and knew he was running out of time. He looked up to see the colonel's outstretched arm, frantic eyes willing him to make it. And with his stomach burning in pain, and breath coming in short gasps, Face lunged at the helicopter and grabbed the landing skid with both arms as it lifted.

"GO! GO, GO, GO!" Hannibal shouted and reached down to grab Face, his eyes catching sight of the guards aiming their weapons skyward and firing. His heart stopped beating and his breath caught in this throat when he looked down at his boy and saw the sudden shock on his face.

Time slowed as Face's arms slipped off the skids and Hannibal's fingers tried to grasp anything to stop the inevitable. A sleeve, a strap... but his fingertips brushed thin air and he watched horrified as the kid fell.

"FACE!" he shouted, but his voice sounded alien in his ears, distorted, and all he could see was Face's shocked eyes locked onto his, a million apologies sent in that one look... I'm sorry, boss... so sorry... I'm so sorry... And then...

And then Face hit the ground.

But no, there was a huge backwash of water as he actually hit the pool, the splash soaking a large area of patio and Hannibal's breath whooshed out of him and he felt dizzy.

"Murdock, bring us about," he shouted, "Face's down!"

"He's what?" Murdock shouted back, eyes wide and alarmed. He looked at BA and saw the big man almost panicked white, seeing Face fall having slammed home his fear of flying. He manoeuvred the helicopter about and Hannibal's frantic eyes searched out Face's form in the pool.

What he saw turned his blood cold.

The crystal blue water was tinged red. Face had been hit. But he was being hauled out of the pool and made to kneel, hands locked behind his head, and surrender.

At least he was still alive.

Explosions in the jungle rocked the helicopter as the C4 then went boom in spectacular fashion, creating a diversion that distracted Esteban's men from shooting up at the helicopter, causing a moment of chaos and confusion.

"Bossman, we gotta get Mama an' her kid's outta here," Murdock stated, tears in his eyes as he looked down at the yard where Face was, guns pointed at him, pool of blood slowly staining the white patio tiles.

Hannibal reluctantly nodded, his eyes lingering on his lieutenant, held captive on the ground, the deafening downdraft from the rotor blades nearly knocking him and the guards over.

They had to leave Face behind, and that tore at Hannibal, and he sat silently as Murdock flew the helicopter away.

ooo

Face closed his eyes when the sounds of the chopper got further and further away, until all he could hear was the frantic noises from the devastated jungle. They'd left him. And although he knew they'd had no choice _- Hannibal_ had no choice, with the woman and children on board, he still felt a sense of abandonment and his heart ached.

Plus, his thigh hurt like a son-of-a-bitch where that bastard's bullet had got him and literally knocked the wind out of him, making him lose the tenuous grip he had on the skids.

He swallowed again when the image of Hannibal's horrified face slammed into his mind as he fell, forced down the bile that threatened to come up and stared morosely at the widening pool of blood under his knees.

Jesus, how was he going to get out of this one?

"Así que, ¿quién carajos estás?"

Face looked up and stared. He could speak Spanish, but wasn't going to make this easy for them and tell them who he was. He shrugged instead shaking his head.

"¿Hablan Español?" the guard asked him with an air of frustration. Face looked blankly at him.

"Ir y obtener Sr. Esteban, este cabrón no habla Español!" one of the guards hissed and Face's stomach turned over painfully. Esteban was the _last_ person he wanted to see.

"What is going on here?"

"Sr. Miguel..." And Face tuned out the cacophony of Spanish words hastily thrown about from all sides. His head pounded and his stomach and thigh screamed in pain, and he so didn't need a screeched argument in a language he'd taken a dislike to since he had the misfortune to have met Martine Genoa.

"Who are you?"

A quick and brutal shove nearly had Face back in the swimming pool and he looked up to see the new guard staring hard at him.

"I said, who are you?"

Face just sighed and stared stubbornly back as he righted his kneeling posture, carefully sucking back the cry of pain that so desperately wanted out, and deliberately placed his hands on his head again.

Manuel... Miguel, whatever his name was narrowed his eyes and spat out a hissed order to one of the other guards, and Face was then yanked to his feet and dragged to the garages, his injured thigh leaving a trail of blood. Once inside, his wrists were cuffed to a cast iron pipe that was going nowhere, before the guard sneered at him, muttered something that had him rolling his eyes, and locked the doors on his way out.

Face winced as he gingerly lowered himself to the ground, his bad leg stretched out in front of him. He grabbed the wet beanie off his head and shivered as his sodden clothes sent a chill through his body. He squinted his eyes and tried to adjust to the dark of the musty smelling garage, scanning the area slowly. And that's when he saw it, and his brows hit his hairline. A Porsche 550 Spyder with red racing stripes, and the words 'Little Bastard' printed on the back.

"Well I'll be damned," he whistled and, despite his uncomfortable and dangerous situation, smiled.

ooo

The rhythmic whump of the rotor blades sounded louder in the helicopter than normal, the tense and shaken atmosphere surrounding each member of the team as they dealt with their own issues with leaving Face behind.

They knew they'd had no choice, but it still warred with their conscience.

BA sat rigidly staring ahead, one huge arm firmly around Emilio Jr, his face set hard. All he could see was Face falling over and over in his mind and he was literally scared to death. Sofia cuddled up closer to him, traumatised herself, and offered BA a tight hug.

Gloria, tears still streaming down her face, sat quietly crying. Tears of relief that she was finally away from her abusive husband, and tears of sorrow and regret that someone had to die so she and her children might live. Because she knew Emilio would have no mercy for the man they called Face.

She looked at her children and saw them fiercely protected by BA, and the tears started again.

Murdock flew the helicopter silently. No quips, no jokes... His eyes blurred when an image of his best friend's face flashed in his mind, laughing at a stupid joke he'd told him a few weeks ago. But he couldn't remember it now...

He frowned hard and swallowed the tears threatening to spill. Why couldn't he remember one stupid joke?

And then it hit him all over again... they'd left Face there. And Murdock let the tears come.

The colonel knew that in any given situation, where civilian lives were at risk, it was a soldier's job to do their best to protect them. He also knew that Face believed in that passionately. And although, with a woman and children to protect, he'd had to leave Face behind, inside he was screaming.

Hannibal had left his boy, his friend behind... and if Face was murdered, if he lost him, Hannibal knew he'd die a little, too.

He just hoped that the monster, Esteban, wanted his cocaine and his family back bad enough to use Face as a bargaining chip... and kept him alive until Hannibal could work out a plan to get him back.

He closed his eyes and snapped them open again when the vivid image of Face falling slammed into his mind, and his chest heaved painfully. Curling his fists until the skin stretched white over his knuckles, Hannibal forced himself to go over the mission in his head. What had gone wrong?

They'd followed the plan, rescued the civilians, and made it to the helicopter... No, they'd _almost_ made it to the helicopter. Face had lagged behind. Hannibal sifted through his memory and his eyes widened when he saw himself in the pump house with Face – the kid was clearly in pain. And then, he'd struggled when running towards the helicopter.

His worst nightmare had been realised. Face wasn't fully recovered from his appendicitis, and because Hannibal hadn't _seen_ through the boy's easy smile and his insistent "Yeah, man, I'm fine," he was going to lose him.

God, if only he'd not listened to Face's constant reassurances that he was okay...

But it was too late. Face was hurting badly, had been shot, and was all alone in the hands of a maniac.

Keeping his emotions tightly under control, he mentally worked out a plan in the heavy stillness of the noisy helicopter.

Minutes dragged painfully slowly for the team and their passengers as they flew across the South American jungle. And they knew with each minute, Face was closer to being killed. If he wasn't dead already.

By the time Murdock landed the helicopter in the clearing where their twin engine Cessna was, all three remaining members of the A-Team were tightly wound and anxious.

"Get the woman and her kids aboard the plane, captain," Hannibal ordered tersely as he jumped off the helicopter and started reloading his weapons. BA and Murdock exchanged looks.

"Bossman," Murdock started.

"I don't want to hear it, Murdock," Hannibal answered quickly, his tone deadly serious. BA handed Emilio Jr to his mama and helped Sofia down while watching his colonel check each gun, before picking his own up and reloading that, too. He was going with him.

"Bossman," the pilot tried again, and within a second, Hannibal was in his space, face set hard.

"I'm going back, Murdock, I'm not leaving him," he hissed stuffing two Glock's in the back of his pants. Murdock glanced over at the Cessna and saw Gloria and the kids looking through the windows at him, and as much as he wanted to go with Hannibal, he knew he needed to get them to the States, and to safety.

"Yeah, I know that, Hannibal," he said and handed the man his own gun. Hannibal gave him a small smile. He should have known Murdock wouldn't try and stop him.

"Thanks."

"Bring him home, colonel," Murdock nodded and hurried to the waiting Cessna. "I'll be back as soon as I can, and keep an open mike!" He started the engines, shouting, "Be safe!" over the roar.

Hannibal picked up the case of cocaine and looked over at BA and cocked his head, "Okay, BA, let's go bury this shit and get our boy back."

ooo

With a face like thunder, Emilio stormed down to the office in the staff area of his house, his silk robe bellowing after him, wafting the musky smell of sex and expensive perfume.

"What is this I am hearing about my cocaine?" he roared as he slammed open the door. The brass knob cracked a hole in the plaster wall with an ear splitting bang, and the guards in the room all winced.

"Lo siento mucho, Sr Esteban," a scared out of his wits man muttered from the back wall, his stance pleading for mercy.

Esteban's eyes narrowed dangerously and he glared at the man. "You're sorry?"

"Sí, señor," he nodded and the whole room could hear him swallow in fear.

Men slowly moved back as the drug lord stepped closer to the man, and silence fell heavily. "Dígame, ¿dónde está la cocaína?," Esteban said calmly, but when the man flinched, he screamed, "WHERE IS MY COCAINE?"

"I sorry, señor, I put it in here para mañana... for tomorrow, to be ready for Sr Fleishman," the man explained, sweat beading on is skin.

"So, where is it?" Esteban said making a show of looking around. The man shook his head, mumbling. "What? I can't hear you!"

"It is gone," he repeated and instantly looked down.

"Gone. Ido." Esteban swept a furious look around the room at his men cowered under his heated gaze. "Estoy rodeado por idiotas. I am! I am surrounded by IDIOTS!"

With a twist of his body and a flick of his wrist, Esteban pulled a small pistol from the pocket of his silk robe and fired, hitting the man responsible for his missing cocaine right between the eyes. The thud of his body on the floor echoed in the stunned silent room.

"That shipment is worth diez millones de dollars. _Ten million dollars_!" he screamed at the remaining men. "Clean that piece of shit up, and _find my cocaine_!"

The men all nodded quickly as Esteban stormed off again.

"Miguel!" he shouted as soon as he stepped outside and saw the state of his pool and patio. Miguel hurried towards him. "What the fuck happened? Where's that bitch y los hijos?"

Miguel winced at the seething venom in Esteban's tone. "Seems we had a break in, sir, Gloria and the children are gone." And he was secretly relieved she'd finally got away from this monster.

"Did they take my cocaine?" he asked dangerously, eyes murderous.

"I do not know," Miguel answered, his own heart hammering in his chest, "But we caught one of them," he added quickly.

Esteban looked at the blood staining the tiles of his patio, bright red under the halogen glare of the security lights, and the murky water in the pool. "Is he dead yet?" he sneered.

"Not yet, sir."

"Good. Where is he? I've got a few questions I want answered," Esteban snarled.

"He's secured in the garage," Miguel said.

Pulling the belt of his robe tight, Esteban turned back to the house, barking over his shoulder, "I'm going to finish fucking my whore. Bring him to my study in fifteen minutes."

Miguel nodded as the door slammed closed, and then sighed. What he was going to do next, he was doing for Gloria. He just hoped he could make his plan believable enough for Esteban to buy.

Or he was a dead man.

ooo

An early morning mist covered the floor of the jungle, making the trek back to Esteban's lair hard and tedious for BA and Hannibal. Gnarled tree roots, vines and other obstacles hindered their progress, and much to Hannibal's dismay, he realised it'd be noon by the time they reached the high, brick wall.

And then they'd have the CCTV to deal with, and without Murdock, that was going to be tricky.

"Hannibal," BA called, and handed the colonel a canteen, which he gratefully took. After stashing the cocaine somewhere safe in the jungle, they hadn't stop to rest since, but pushed themselves onward and nearer to Face.

ooo

Face winced again as his body twisted in pain, and breathed carefully through it. He used his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his eyes and concentrated on picking the lock of his cuffs with the bent, rusted nail it'd taken what seemed like hours to pry (until his fingertips were bloodied) free from the board that ran along the bottom of the wall.

"Shit," he hissed when the nail slipped from his sticky grasp. He quickly picked it up and tried again.

Eventually, his eyes widened and a small leap of hope fluttered in his chest when he heard the tell-tale click of an opening lock. "Yes!" he whispered with a grin, opened the cuffs and freed himself.

He stood carefully, fighting off a wave of dizziness and keeping his weight balanced on his good leg, and reached for a rag he'd spied earlier. He tied it tightly around his bleeding thigh, hissing painfully through his teeth at the spasms of agony steeling his breath.

It was just a flesh wound, and wasn't fatal but, fuck, it still hurt.

He hobbled over to the Porsche and ran bloody fingers over the letters that spelled 'Little Bastard'. "Murdock'll never believe this," he murmured to himself before making his way to the door.

But just as he reached it, a warm breeze of morning air rushed in along with Miguel.

"Good morning. Room service?" Face asked brightly, his fingers curling around a tire iron he'd found by the Porsche.

"We don't have much time," Miguel said quickly, throwing a glance over his shoulder and closing the door. Face watched him warily. "I see you freed yourself."

Face didn't answer and tightened his grip on his weapon. Miguel blew out an anxious breath.

"Look, my name is Miguel, I am a friend of Gloria's," he rapidly explained, and Face's brow rose.

So this was Gloria's friendly guard? Face was still wary, and stood his ground, concentrating hard on focussing.

"I don't know who you are, but I have to assume Armand DeSimone sent you, si?"

"Do you have a weapon?" Face asked. Miguel pulled out his pistol and calmly and carefully placed it on the floor in the most non-threatening way he could. "Kick it to me."

Face let go of the tire arm and slowly picked up the gun, holding his breath against the pain as he did so, cocked it and pointed it at Miguel.

"Please, we don't have much time," Miguel insisted. "I'm here to help you escape."

And Face threw him sceptical look and huffed out a laugh, but he cautiously lowered his gun a fraction.

"You have to hit me, knock me out to make it believable, and then take the route south east from the house to the wall. The CCTV camera there is out of service today for maintenance," Miguel quickly explained. Face forced himself to take in the information, processing it. He threw a glance at Little Bastard and the other prestige vehicles lined up beside it, but Miguel immediately picked up on his train of thought and shook his head, "Sr. Esteban doesn't keep these cars gassed. Your only way out is the south east wall."

Face frowned, he should have known it wouldn't be that easy. "You have dogs," he murmured remembering flashes from the night before.

"Yes, but it is feeding time. They should be in the kennels," Miguel nodded. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Face. The man looked like shit, and the rag around his thigh was already soaked with blood. He motioned to the leg and grimaced, "Will you make it on that?"

"Don't worry about me, Miguel," Face murmured looking for anything that could be of use to him. He found a knife and a coil of fishing wire and pocketed them, stuffing a box of matches and a spray can of liquid polish in beside them as he passed. "What about you?" he asked when he stood back in front of Miguel. He knew the man was taking a _huge_ risk letting him go.

But Miguel just jutted his chin out and muttered, "Make it convincing."

Face drew back his fist and put every ounce of power into the punch he could, sending Miguel flying across the garage. He landed on the floor in a still heap and Face winced at the bloodied lip he could see.

"Sorry, Miguel," he muttered to the unconscious man, and then quietly slipped out of the garage and headed for the south east side of the grounds. He briefly wondered where everyone was until he spied a group of men loading a body into the back of a van.

A shiver ran down his spine and he swallowed down a wave of nausea, carefully tamped down the pain threatening to overpower him, and silently moved into the cover of the jungle.

ooo

"Aw man," BA hissed when his boot snagged on a vine and his ankle twisted painfully. Hannibal's eyes darted about for danger before kneeling next to him.

"How bad, BA?" he asked with a grimace.

"Just twisted, boss. Gimme some Tylenol an' I'll be okay," the big man murmured frustrated at his clumsiness. Hannibal frowned and pursed his lips, fishing through his back-pack for the small first aid kit. He found a blister pack of pain killers and handed them over.

"Thanks," BA muttered and downed three with a gulp of water.

"Okay, but if it gets worse, let me know," Hannibal ordered. They already had one man potentially down, they didn't need another. And now with BA's injury, the progress was going to be even slower.

He mentally calculated distance with the slower speed and sighed. Reaching Esteban's by noon wasn't looking likely now, and Hannibal sent a silent prayer that Face could hang on a little longer.

ooo

With each step, pain radiated right through Face's body, and his vision blurred. Bright lights flashed behind his eyes and the whole world tilted sickening one way and then the other.

He was in a heap of trouble, and he knew it.

He'd made decent time, despite the bullet injury and blood loss, but it wasn't fast enough. And now the hot sun was making itself known to the day, and Face felt sticky and uncomfortable, which just made his head pound and he wanted to hurl.

The trek to the wall was arduous, and to help him keep motivated and not just give up – like his body wanted to, Face kept his head filled with images of his team, and the fun times they had together on the beach in Daytona only a couple of weeks ago, but now seemed a lifetime away.

He blinked the sweat from his eyes and tried to focus on where he was in relation to the south east wall, cursing softly under his breath when his pain fogged mind realised he still had a ways to go yet, and he determinedly forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and carried on, letting his mind wander back to the sand dunes...

And Face wished he was back there with Hannibal and the boys, and not running for his life in the stifling heat of the South American jungle.

Another few yards, and Face made it to the wall. He looked up at the maybe ten foot structure and his heart sank into his soggy boots.

The thing might as well have been one hundred feet tall. With his bum leg and his exhaustion, there was no way in hell he was going to be able to get over it.

He slumped to the ground and felt like crying. "Sorry, boss," he whispered tiredly as his vision greyed and unconsciousness licked at the edges. "I tried."

And the world span dizzily for a moment as his vision failed, and finally went black.

ooo

The vein on Emilio Esteban's forehead stood out as the man slowly went red with anger. He looked at Miguel, and the rather spectacular bruise on the man's face, and seethed.

"How?" Short, one word questions were all he could manage, he was _so_ fucking furious his prisoner had escaped.

Miguel winced as his split lip pulled painfully. "He had slipped his cuffs and was waiting behind the door. It happened so fast, Emilio," he explained. "I'm sorry."

Esteban blew out a controlled breath. What the fuck was wrong with his men? Stupid imbeciles. In one night, he'd lost ten million dollars worth of cocaine, a prisoner, and his fucking bitch wife and her bastard children!

Not that he really cared about the latter; he was better off without them. He'd deal with that irritating issue later.

"Assemble the men," he barked, knowing that his dogs would be useless, having picked them for viciousness and not tracking abilities. "I want that bastardo found. Hunt him down, Miguel, and bring him to me alive so I can kill him myself. Slowly..."

"Sí, señor," Miguel nodded and left quickly. He just hoped the man he'd risked his life for had got away.

ooo

The wall was in sight and Hannibal stopped to let BA catch up. The man had been slowing down considerably, his ankle becoming more painful with every step.

"Okay, I see the wall," Hannibal said and looked at BA's foot. He sighed. No way was the big guy going to be able to climb, and jump down from the ten foot high wall without seriously injuring himself even more.

BA seemed to sense what he was thinking, and he frowned. "No way man, I'm comin' with you," he shook his head.

"BA-"

"You need the backup, plus we dunno what condition Faceman's gonna be in, an' you can't shoot an' carry him at the same time," he reasoned. Hannibal knew he was right, but he also knew that if BA landed hard on that ankle, chances were that he'd have two men to carry. And that was impossible.

"I ain't lettin' you go on your own," BA hissed, his eyes set hard.

"Shh," Hannibal suddenly murmured when his sharp ears picked up voices in the dense jungle. They hunkered down and listened.

"Shit... Six, maybe eight men," Hannibal whispered listening hard to the broken Spanish he could decipher. His eyes widened and he turned to BA. "They're looking for Face. He's escaped."

And that changed things.

A click and then a static crackle sounded on their comm. unit before Murdock's voice broke through, "Murdock to bossman and the mudsucker. ETA five minutes... You got the Faceman-"

Hannibal quickly fingered his unit. "Murdock. Radio silence," he hissed with his keen eyes making sure their position hadn't been compromised.

"Boss, you know that fool gonna' hot foot it through this jungle to us now, don't you?" BA sighed. Hearing Hannibal's order for radio silence meant the bad guys were near, and the pilot wouldn't think twice about coming to help.

Sighing, Hannibal nodded. "New plan," he murmured. "You back track through the jungle and intercept our pilot before he's picked off by one of these bastards. I'll go get Face."

BA opened his mouth to object, but the colonel raised a finger and the big guy fell silent with a scowl.

"I'll meet you at the landing site _with_ Face," he instructed. "If we're not there within twelve hours, I want you to get Murdock on that plane, and I want you to leave."

"You gotta' be shittin' me," BA growled, the horrifying idea of leaving not just Face, but Hannibal behind as well not sitting well with him, _at all_.

Hannibal looked hard at BA. "I'm coming back with Face, I'm _not_ leaving him again. And if he's... if he's dead..." he swallowed hard, his meaning crystal clear. And BA's heart froze. If Face was dead, Hannibal was going to take as many of those bastards out as he could... He placed his warm palm against BA's cheek and smiled. "Just make sure Murdock is okay. And tell him... Tell him I'm sorry."

"I ain't tellin' him nothin', Hannibal," BA insisted, "'Cause you an' the Faceman gonna' be okay. You better make it back, boss."

"I'll do my best," Hannibal nodded and silently moved off, leaving BA to hobble back towards the landing site.

ooo

A strange tickling sensation on his hand startled Face awake, and he looked down to see a huge, absolutely gross millipede scurry across his skin. He jumped and knocked it off, a shudder of revulsion rippling through his body.

"Fuck... fuck!" he hissed and frantically hauled himself upright, rubbing his hand hastily against his pants.

Face hated the jungle.

His head swam for a second and thumped painfully in time with his thudding heart, and he blew out a slow and controlled breath. He squinted through the tree tops at the sun and saw it high in the sky, and the intense, sweltering heat prickled his skin. Checking his watch to confirm it was probably after mid day only reminded him that the thing wasn't waterproof and had stopped.

"Okay, Face," he sighed and focussed on his task of getting the fuck out of there. The little impromptu (okay, forced) nap he'd had had renewed a little of his reserve energy, and that wall didn't look as high now.

Looking around, he spotted a small monkey staring at him before it quickly and nimbly climbed a tree and disappeared over the top of the wall. Face smiled... that was his way out. The tree was knobbly and had vines growing all over it, providing decent footholds all the way to the top of the wall, and he carefully started to climb, gritting his teeth as his thigh throbbed and ached painfully.

It was slow progress, but soon he was on the top and looking down at the uneven ground he had to jump down to.

"Fuck, this is gonna hurt," he mumbled with a frown before easing his body over the top of the wall until he was hanging by his fingers.

Spots danced before his eyes and pain radiated from every part of his body when he landed, collapsing instantly on his back. He rolled over and vomited as his stomach suddenly rebelled.

"Ooooh God, that fucking _hurt_!" he groaned when he'd finished.

His leg wound had opened in the fall, fresh blood warming his thigh, and Face gingerly sat up and pressed hard on his leg, biting his lip against the pain. He then refastened the stained and dirty rag around his muscle, praying it'd hold.

"Okay, Face, time to go home," he murmured to himself and carefully stood up, grabbing a stick to help keep his balance. He looked at the dense vegetation and sighed.

It was going to be a long walk.

ooo

Esteban's men spread out thinly to search the vast area of the jungle surrounding the drug lord's property. After checking the CCTV footage and seen nothing, they'd just assumed the escapee had made it out.

With their tailored suits and inadequate footwear, the men were soon tense and pissed off, their itchy trigger fingers firing at anything that moved. So far they'd managed to hit several trees (and missed the lizards), and a coconut in mid fall.

Short tempers and frayed nerves matched the hot and sweaty moods, which made this manhunt seriously deadly for Face.

ooo

Another gunshot had Face lying flat the ground in seconds as it echoed through the trees, startling the animals in the jungle to high pitched screeches. He futilely gripped his gun tightly in his fingers, knowing that firing it would be like lighting up a huge neon sign pointing out where he was... something he _didn't_ want to do right then when he looked up and saw movement twenty yards in front of him. The man was headed right for him.

Carefully rolling to the side out of sight, Face fumbled in his pocket for the fishing spool and quickly tied off a trip wire, and then waited with his knife shaking in his hand.

He didn't want to do this, but it was a case of kill, or be killed... and Face didn't really want to die just yet.

Barely breathing, Face watched as the man walked closer to the wire, invisible in the debris of the jungle floor, and then pounced, his knife cutting across the man's throat, slicing like butter, before the body even hit the floor.

As if on autopilot, he checked the man's pockets, found an empty cigarette packet and a lighter (which he took), and shoved his gun into the back of his pants next to his own.

Adrenalin still rushing through him, Face then dragged the body under a pile of vegetation and then sat breathing hard, trying to calm himself down, squeezing his blood stained hands into fists to stop them shaking. His stomach cramped painfully, and he heaved, bringing up nothing but bile, his eyes watering as waves of agony rolled through his body with every spasm.

Seconds later, Face forced the pain down and shakily wiped the sweaty hair from his eyes, and with a stifled moan, he got to his feet and hobbled away, right arm firmly plastered to his side.

ooo

From the top of the wall, Hannibal could see groups of men heading out into the jungle, rather than search inside Esteban's grounds.

Could Face have escaped over the wall? It was very possible.

He jumped down again and made his way along the outside of the wall, looking for signs of his lieutenant's escape.

It wasn't long until he found blood smeared on the leaves and he looked up. "Face!" he whispered as loud as he dared. He wasn't surprised to get no reply.

It wasn't easy to see the trail Face had left, but with all his years in the army, Hannibal managed follow the tell tale signs of someone making their way stealthily through the jungle.

It was the small smears of blood that worried him though. Fresh, red... Face's wound was still bleeding. Either that or he'd been hurt again... and Hannibal prayed the latter wasn't true.

And then his heart leapt into his throat when he spotted a pool of dark red amongst the leaves on the floor.

"God... No, Face," he gasped, thinking the worse. His sharp eyes scanned the area and narrowed when he saw the nylon wire suspended tightly between two sturdy saplings. Hannibal's mind worked fast realising he was looking at a trip wire trap, that had to have been set by Face, and a small relieved smile curved his lips, turning into a frown when he saw the dead body hidden under the vegetation, with its throat slit neatly from ear to ear.

"Oh, Tem," Hannibal murmured, knowing the kid really didn't like take lives, especially when it was up close and personal with a knife.

But at least he was still alive, and Hannibal resumed his search for his boy.

ooo

Keeping one eye on the jungle, and the other on his task, Face picked up another stick and sliced the end to a lethally sharp point. When he'd done enough, he secured them all tightly to a branch with some of the wire, and then pulled it taught, rigging a release to another trip wire across the jungle floor.

Through the trees he could see the light grey of a suit closing in on him, and quickly pulled out the matches and can of polish from his pocket, striking a flame and spraying the fire to ignite some of the damp vegetation to cause smoke...

The trap was baited... and working beautifully as Face watched from his hiding place when the suit turned and headed straight towards him.

His heart pounded in his ears the closer the man came, and then his deadly handiwork was triggered, the sharp stakes striking swiftly and accurately, and Face sucked in breath.

The strangled, gurgled yelp had Face up and in front of the man in seconds, his grimy hand tight across his mouth.

"Shhhh," he hissed as he watched the man's eyes, wide with fear, slowly roll back... the life slipping from him as fast as the blood pouring from where one of the lethal sticks had firmly impaled his neck.

And then the man was still. Dead. And Face stared rigidly at him, his lungs burning as breath refused to come at the shock of what he'd done, until shouts suddenly filled the air and birds scattered from the trees. The man's cry had been heard, and Face forced himself to move, quickly limping away and trying to put as much distance between them and him.

But then he lost his footing, and his legs collapsed from under him as he tumbled over and slid down a steep bank, landing with a painful thud at the bottom. Face saw stars and his vision wavered for a moment, but by some miracle he managed to stay conscious.

"Ohhh fuck," he hissed when his body suddenly screamed in pain, his belly shooting spasms of white hot agony through him that took his breath away. He curled in on himself and screwed his eyes shut tight, trying to gasp through it.

Eventually his muscles relaxed and Face sighed shakily and opened his eyes again... to see his thigh bleeding freely. He moaned miserably.

Face knew he needed to stop it bleeding, and the only way now was to cauterise the wound. Which filled him with so much anxiety that his sore stomach rolled in sympathy.

He patted his pockets looking for the lighter, and realised he'd lost the aerosol can and one of his guns in the fall. Sighing heavily, he pulled out the lighter he'd taken from the guard and his knife and with trembling hands sliced a split in his pants, revealing the open wound. Face could see the raw, puffy red edges and knew it was infected, but it was still pulsing bright red blood.

Flicking the lighter until it lit, Face wiped the blade of his knife as best he could, and then watched mesmerised as the flame danced and licked around the metal, vaguely hoping that the heat would be enough to kill off any nasty bacteria lurking on there.

When he thought it was sufficiently hot, he lowered the blade to his thigh, and hesitated. His hand shook badly and sweat rolled down his face and into his eyes, and Face took a deep unsteady breath, grabbed a stick and shoved it in his mouth, and mentally tried to remove himself from the situation... and pressed the hot blade to his wound.

His body jerked and stiffened as pain, worse than Face could ever remember, slammed through him, and he bit through the wood between his teeth. It lasted a mere few seconds before oblivion blessedly took Face away and he slumped sideways, semi aware that he had to stay awake, but so wanting to just drift away somewhere pain free...

The latter won, and with a sigh Face passed out.

ooo

Limping painfully on his ankle, BA hobbled behind a tree as one of Esteban's guards came into view to his left. BA mentally worked out the sixty something foot distance between them and waited, his gun trained steadily on the target.

He blew out a soft sigh of relief as the man changed direction and headed further away, and BA pushed himself onwards. He was nearer the clearing where Murdock had landed, than Esteban's place, but there was still no sign of the pilot.

BA decided to risk the radio, and clicked it twice... and it clicked three times back. A small smile curved one side of his mouth.

It wasn't long until he saw the red of Murdock's cap hidden amongst the leaves of a tree, and silently headed for it.

There wasn't much in the world that could bring down the big man that was Bosco 'BA' Baracus, but Murdock was a fast little fucker, and in less than two seconds flat, the slightly built pilot had BA on the floor of the jungle with his hand planted firmly on his mouth.

Wide green-blue eyes pleaded for silence and stillness, and BA quickly nodded. Murdock grinned and let go. He looked up and pointed. Barely visible in the near distance was two suits, and BA unknowingly was headed straight for them.

"Place is crawling with bad guys," Murdock muttered. "Must be native to this area of Colombia. Badius Motherfuckerii."

"Shut up, fool," BA grinned, pleased to see the crazy pilot. Murdock returned the grin. "Mama and her kids safe?"

"Yeah, dropped 'em off with their grandpa, an' came straight back. They was so pleased to see him," Murdock smiled, his mood quickly turning serious and anxious as he asked, "Where's Hannibal an' Facey?"

"Hannibal gettin' the Faceman," BA whispered. "He's meetin' us after midnight at the 'plane. _With_ Face," he added darkly, and Murdock's eyes widened, instantly knowing Hannibal's plan.

"Bosco, Hannibal _is_ comin' back, isn't he?"

"Stupid damn fool idiot... If Face is..." He couldn't finish the words, but Murdock understood clearly.

"On no. No fuckin' way," he hissed. He looked at BA's ankle and grimaced. "Man, that looks bad. Can you walk on that some more, Bosco? 'Cause we gotta go an' help. We ain't leaving them behind. Not again."

BA looked up and saw the fear and determination on his friend's face, and this time, he agreed... however crazy it was.

"Yeah man, c'mon," he growled and quietly moved away, with the pilot in tow after grabbing his beloved cap.

ooo

Hannibal hid behind a low plant watching with interest as two men argued over a third, who was impaled to a tree by sharp stakes attached to a branch. A spring trap. Another of Face's.

His gut churned at the thought of his lieutenant taking all these lives, but he also mentally thanked the powers that be that he was still alive. Hannibal quietly sighed – he had to be getting close.

His special forces trained senses picked up the soft footfalls of someone creeping up behind him and he stilled, slipped his knife out and waited... striking just as the cold metal barrel of a gun touched the skin of his neck.

He twisted his body fast, sweeping the man's legs, silently taking him down, and instantly jumped on him, hand covering the shocked mouth, knife tip piercing skin...

But then the tell tale click of a gun cocking sounded uncomfortably close to his ear and Hannibal froze.

"Coloque el cuchillo hacia abajo y pon tus manos en el aire," an icy cold voice behind him ordered. _Put the knife down and put your hands in the air_. And with no other choice, Hannibal slowly dropped his knife, raised his hands and stood up. He'd been caught. He'd let Face down, and he closed his eyes when cuffs were brutally snapped onto his wrists, his heart racing as the other two men turned and approached with their guns pointed at him, too.

Barely listening to the Spanish gloating thrown at him as he was forced back to Esteban's house, Hannibal silently offered a prayer up to God, asking him to look after his boy, to beg for forgiveness for letting him down.

ooo

Face came to with the same sensation of tickling on his skin, and jolted awake, shuddering in revulsion when he saw a large, and by that Face meant _fucking huge_, great big, hairy spider scampering away.

"Holy _fuck_!" he yelped, his voice hoarse and raw. "God, I fuckin' _hate_ the jungle!"

With his heart pounding in his chest, Face swallowed hard, licking at dry and cracked lips and gingerly checked his leg. The wound was a mess. It was red and swollen, and definitely infected. But at least it wasn't bleeding anymore.

He felt as bad as the wound looked, but he knew he had to push on. Hannibal would be coming back for him, and would be waiting for him, and he couldn't let the boss down. And he shoved himself to his feet and looked around.

Where the fuck was he?

Blinking up at the sun low in the sky, Face's fever addled mind hazarded a guess at which way was North and he forced his legs to move, focussing on one pain filled foot step after another.

The ground wavered and blurred, and Face had to concentrate hard just to keep his eyes open. He staggered from tree to tree, fighting off bouts of dizziness, desperately trying to focus his vision through the haze of his fever, praying that he'd make it back to the plane, and to Hannibal.

But his luck ran out and he blindly walked right into the path of one of Esteban's men. Face didn't even have the time to draw his weapon before the butt of the man's gun connected with his cheekbone, and he instantly saw stars.

"Sr. Esteban quiere hablar con usted. Vamonos," the man leaned down and hissed, his sour breath making Face gag.

"Sorry, don't speak your fucking language," he lied, moaning as the man yanked him to his feet. He stood swaying, dangerously close to passing out again.

"No you worry, bastardo, señor Esteban va a matarte. Muertos. Muy muertos," the man smirked evilly, "Kill you very dead."

A small humourless laugh reflected the contempt of Face's expression. So, Esteban wanted to talk to him, and then was going to 'kill him very dead'? Wasn't much of an incentive to cooperate, and he gave into the fuzzy darkness closing in on him and collapsed.

ooo

"You know, there's a distinct lack of Badius Motherfuckerii around lately," Murdock mumbled as he and BA stealthily crept through the dense vegetation. BA nodded; the pilot was right. The number of Esteban's men in the jungle had definitely lessoned, and that filled the big guy with dread.

Had they caught Face again and now Hannibal, too? Had they killed them?

"We keep goin'," he murmured gruffly and the two men continued towards Esteban's property.

ooo

"Emilio, darling, are you coming back to bed?"

Esteban frowned at the woman in his bed, his eyes widening when she flicked back the silk sheet and opened her legs, her fingers stroking slowly through neatly trimmed pubic hair, slipping down over her clit and between her plump, wet pussy lips. She held Esteban's gaze as she lifted the same fingers to her mouth and sucked, moaning deep in her throat.

"Mmmm sweet, baby," she purred, and smiled when Esteban fisted his hand in her black hair and yanked her head back, kissing brutally, forcing his tongue deep.

He plunged his own fingers inside her, roughly thrusting in and out, and the woman groaned like a whore.

"You like that, don't you _puta_," he hissed, using his thumb to tease her clit. She writhed beneath him, feeling her orgasm crashing around her.

"Oh fuck! Emilio!"

Wet juices flowed over Esteban's fingers and he licked them clean, pushing her legs apart and leaning down to suck hard on her clit. She screamed, body bucking as she came again... and again... and again...

"No... No, please, Emilio... Please..." she pleaded as her body shook and trembled, but Esteban mercilessly played her until she was crying and cursing.

"You _bastardo_!" she growled and slapped Esteban hard across the face. He grabbed her by the throat and squeezed, a dangerous smirk twisting his mouth when she grinned and pulled him down into another vicious kiss, tasting blood and loving it.

"Leave me be, woman, I have business to attend to," he eventually said as he yanked on his own pants.

"Anything I can help with, lover?" she asked, licking plump red lips. Esteban thought for a moment and then nodded.

"Yes. Tell your sister to meet Miguel in the basement."

"Is that all?"

"My dear, you just stay naked for me here," Esteban murmured sweetly. The woman pouted.

"Just as long as I don't see that bitch wife of yours," she hissed vehemently and Esteban laughed.

There wasn't much chance of that now.

ooo

Hannibal tried his cuffs again, wincing when the metal bit painfully into the raw skin of his wrists. The metal chair was hard and uncomfortable, and with his ankles secured too, he couldn't even stretch out his aching muscles.

After he'd been captured, the men had dragged him down to the basement of Esteban's house; a windowless area, with only one door and one light bulb hanging from the ceiling, cuffed him to the chair, and then locked him in. The room was big and damp, and the cool air prickled his skin.

They'd offered him no water, or any explanation why he'd been left alone for at least an hour. Why they didn't kill him straight away told Hannibal that Esteban was going to question him.

But he wasn't going to talk.

Nothing on this earth would make him spill his guts to a snivelling, slimy, scum-sucking lowlife like Emilio Esteban. _Nothing_.

Looking at the pitiful light bulb pathetically trying to illuminate the room, he thought about Face. Was his lieutenant alright? Had the kid found BA and Murdock, and had they gone back to the States?

He sighed. He knew the answer to the last question, and silently fumed. Rescue was suicide in this fortress. And his life alone wasn't worth the three of theirs.

"I'm so sorry," he sighed softly and closed his eyes, trying to picture his boys so that would be the last thought he'd have before he was killed.

ooo

"Shit! Fuck!" BA yelped, and Murdock span around just in time to see the big guy collapse to the ground.

"What? Is it your ankle?" he asked frantically, not liking the ashen look on BA's sweaty face.

"Yeah," BA clipped, gasping. "Twisted... again."

"Aw man," the pilot frowned when he saw the discoloured and swollen skin above BA's boot. "I think it's fucked, Bosco."

"No it ain't," BA argued. It couldn't be fucked. Hannibal and Face needed him. Murdock needed him! "Jus' gimme some Tylenol and help me strap it."

"Bosco, buddy, I think it's beyond Tylenol and strappin' now," Murdock frowned, but nodded reluctantly when BA glared at him. He fumbled around in his pockets and produced a small bottle of Dilaudid. "Here, I brought these in case Facey needed them while we got out of here. They're real mean, an' should take the edge of the pain."

BA frowned at the medication. Dilaudid was a narcotic. But if it worked...

"But remember to take it easy... you might not be feelin' the pain, but your ankle is still fucked up. Okay?" Murdock warned.

Nodding, BA took two with healthy gulp of water.

"Alright. We'll go through the jungle where we set the C4, and climb the wall there. The CCTV cameras hopefully will have been knocked out by the blasts," the pilot decided, and BA agreed. Sounded like a sound plan. "You okay, Bosco?"

"Yeah, let's go," he grunted and carefully stood up, a smile filling his face as the Dilaudid dulled some of the pain, and they slowly started onwards again as the last of the daylight lit their way.

ooo

Face thought he was dreaming... or rather having a nightmare flashback to when he was in the hospital with appendicitis.

Full red lips and dark eyes swam in his vision, blurring and moving too fast for him to focus on. He closed them, moaning softly, and tried to figure out where he was instead.

The cold concrete floor under his body told him he wasn't in the jungle anymore, and definitely not in any hospital, and then the memories came back.

They'd caught him.

Shit.

He opened his eyes again when he felt cool water dribbling into his mouth, and a woman's voice urging him to drink. He spat it out and turned his head away.

"No, you're severely dehydrated. You need to drink," the red lips murmured, Spanish accent colouring the words. "It's just water."

Face narrowed his vision and the woman's face slowly came into focus, and he sucked in a breath, inhaling a little of the water and coughing violently.

The woman was Rosanna Genoa. _Martine_ Genoa's sister!

His belly twisted and cramped in agony, and the wound on his thigh throbbed, and Face curled into a ball.

"Mierda," Rosanna hissed and helped Face sit up, slapping his back. "Calm your breathing..."

"Get... get away from... me," Face gasped and weakly pushed at Rosanna's hands. If Rosanna was here, then Martine had to be here, too.

"I just want to help," Rosanna said and offered the water again.

"You wanna help? Get the fuck away from me," he spat and knocked the water out of her hand. Rosanna glanced at the door before leaning close to Face.

"I know I wronged you before, but I had no choice. She was going to kill me," she whispered quickly. Oh, she remembered the man from the hospital clearly and hoped he could see it in his heart to help her, if she helped him now. "I'm a prisoner here. Just like you..." And Face glared at her. She ignored him. "Look, they're coming. I can try and help you and your friend escape, but you must promise to take me with you."

_...help you and your friend_... The words span in Face's brain. His friend? Hannibal. It had to be Hannibal. He'd come back for him, and now they had him, too. His lungs seized and Rosanna cupped his face and forced him to focus.

"Stay alive, I'll be back," she hissed and stood just as the door opened.

"Well, well, well," Emilio Esteban smiled evilly and crouched in front of Face. "It is el pequeño pollo that escaped the hen house."

Face blinked. Little chicken? Sounded like Esteban had been snorting his own shit.

"So, little chicken... Where is my cocaine, huh?" Esteban asked calmly. Face ignored him and looked away. "Does not matter if you don't want to tell me," the drug lord smiled again and stood up. "I have ways of getting the information I want."

Closing his eyes, Face sighed. Esteban hadn't even mentioned his wife or his children. The cocaine was what he wanted. There was a special place in hell reserved for men like him, and Face hoped he'd be the one to send him there.

"Santos," Esteban barked and a huge, muscled man walked in cracking his knuckles. The drug lord grinned at him and stroked a hand over a large bulging bicep. "Tiene un buen tiempo, pero no matarlo muertos. ¿Entiendes? I want him alive."

And Esteban, Rosanna and two guards left Face alone with the ape-man, the drug lord's words _you have a good time, but don't kill him_ still ringing in Face's ears.

The first blow knocked two teeth loose, and Face groaned miserably.

ooo

With his cramped muscles screaming, Hannibal tried to concentrate on twisting his wrists, now slick with blood, through the cuffs. But they were too tight. He blew out a frustrated sigh and cursed.

"Now, now," Esteban chastised as he walked in, heels of his Italian shoes clicking across the expanse of the floor. "I will not have that language in my home."

"Fuck you," Hannibal spat and Esteban laughed. A small, stocky man brought another chair in and the drug lord sat down facing the colonel.

"So, I'm going to assume you're one of the bastardos that broke into my home and stole from me," he started conversationally, slimy smile plastered on his face. Hannibal stared stubbornly at him. "I can't decide whether you're brave or stupid. Do you not know who I am?" Esteban frowned when Hannibal didn't answer. "I am Emilio Esteban! People _fear_ me," he spat harshly, spittle spraying through his teeth, and he roared in frustration when he was met with contemptible silence.

Esteban leaned back in the chair and cocked his head, contemplating his prisoner. It was obvious the man wasn't intimidated by the drug lord, and he wasn't going to talk, no matter what Esteban did to him. But he wasn't finished just yet...

"It seems you have something that belongs to me, and I'd like it back," he said calmly, slimy smile back in place. "Hmmm, nothing to say?"

Still Hannibal stared at him. The man was a maniac, a narcissistic psychopath full of delusions of fucking grandeur. But he could take whatever Esteban threw at him.

"Okay then, seems we do this the hard way," Esteban decided and stood up. The small man moved the chair again and Esteban snapped his fingers.

Hannibal's eyes fell on the door at the end of the room and widened in abject horror when Face was dragged in, half conscious and looking like he'd taken quite a beating. He was unceremoniously dumped at Esteban's feet and forced to kneel up by huge, thick fingers tight in his hair.

Oh God...

Feeling the cold shards of dread leeching through his body, Hannibal couldn't pull his eyes from his boy; he'd really hoped that Face had safely made it to BA and Murdock, and as much as he wanted to call out to Face, to say _anything_ to him, any kind of comforting words, he knew he couldn't. And he felt his heart shatter. But he could not, _would not_ give that sadistic bastard anything to use against Face.

Sucking in a shaky breath and swallowing hard, he also suddenly realised that he was wrong when he'd said he could take anything Esteban threw at him. Very wrong.

Hannibal stared silently at his lieutenant, wishing Face would at least look at him back. But the kid couldn't focus through his swollen eyes, and was blinking irritably as blood from cuts above his eyebrows dripped into them and down his cheeks. And even though Face was still dressed in the black clothes he wore two nights ago, Hannibal had to assume that the kid's body was probably black and blue with bruises, too.

Esteban grinned maliciously when he saw the recognition and look of fear and distress glance over Hannibal's face, and leaned down near to beaten man's upturned head and sneered, "So, you gonna make this easy on your boy here?"

Hannibal knew what Face was going to do before he did it, and hissed out an urgent "no!" just as the mouthful of blood hit the drug lord squarely on his chest. Esteban roared in disgust and back handed Face hard across his jaw, sending the man sprawling on the floor.

"Don't... tell him anything," Face gasped as he was hauled viciously back to his knees, fresh blood drooling down his chin, his arms now held tight behind him. Determined pain filled eyes stared straight at Hannibal, and the colonel felt his insides turn to ice as he realised just how far this sadistic game would now go.

"Hmm, he's quite the brave boy, isn't he," Esteban said, a scowl on his face. He handed his jacket to the stocky small guard and smoothed down his waistcoat, commenting, "That was a suit from Savile Row, London."

"My heart bleeds," Hannibal mumbled sarcastically.

Esteban blew out a breath, cupped his hands behind his back and stood casually in front of Hannibal.

"This is how it's going to go down," the drug lord started deadly serious. "You're going to tell me where my cocaine is or you're going to watch your boy slowly tortured to death."

Hannibal flicked his eyes from Esteban to Face and carefully hid the anguish and absolute fear he was feeling. Face held his gaze steadily, his pale blue eyes still stubborn and determined.

"And while you're at it, you can tell me what you've done with my wife and children too," Esteban added as an afterthought.

"Like you fucking care," Hannibal sneered, thinking of the bruises the poor woman had. "She's-"

"Don't tell him anything, colonel," Face hissed through gritted teeth and Esteban turned to face him, running a finger through the blood staining his cheek and smirking.

"She's what, _colonel_?" he asked staring menacingly at Face, his finger pressing painfully into the gash above the kid's right eye. Face's jaw locked and he sucked in a sharp breath, and refused to give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Hannibal winced at the way his boy's body shook. "She's safe," he said, internally sighing in relief when Esteban let Face go.

"See? That wasn't hard now, was it," he smiled. "So, _colonel_... Military, huh?"

Hannibal schooled his expression and stared straight ahead.

"I should have guessed that you're military, with the precise skill's you possess to break into my house and take what's mine... kidnap my family," the drug lord mused. He paced the room nonchalantly, running his fingers through Face's messy hair as he passed him. Face jerked his head away and glared at him. Esteban smiled coldly, "Well, you know who I am, might have the pleasure of knowing you?"

When silence followed Esteban's request, the drug lord raised his eye brows and poised his expensive shoe over Face's thigh, right above the bullet injury.

Face blew out a steady breath and mentally prepared himself for the intensity of the pain about to hit him, and narrowed his eyes at Hannibal. _Don't tell him_...

And then Esteban applied pressure on the wound. "It's just a name, _colonel_," he purred sadistically, pressing harder. Face screwed his eyes closed and clamped his mouth shut.

Barking out a harsh, humourless laugh, Hannibal looked incredulously at Esteban, pointedly ignoring the silent agony on his lieutenant's face.

"You're _really_ gonna torture him over a name?" he spat at the drug lord. "You really are a fuckin' sadistic moron!"

Esteban's eyes widened and he rushed over to Hannibal, practically nose to nose. "Yes, I am... so you better remember that, _colonel_. If you don't tell me your name, I'll shoot his kneecap off," he growled and held his hand out for a gun. The short, stocky guard quickly obeyed and Esteban pointed the barrel right at Face's knee. "What's it to be? A name for a knee?"

"Colonel John Smith," Hannibal muttered looking down. He didn't want to see the disappointment on his boy's face for being weak.

"John Smith? You couldn't be more creative than that?" Esteban roared and pulled the trigger. Hannibal's eyes snapped up in alarm expecting to see Face's knee obliterated, but the bullet had missed. "_That_ was your one and only chance, _John Smith_."

He stalked over to Face and pressed the smoking end of the gun against the back of his head, and Face looked up, quickly finding Hannibal's eyes and holding them.

If he was going to die right now, he wanted Hannibal to be the last person he'd ever see.

The door opened then, the soft swish loud in the heavy, tense silence, and a man walked in, already apologising even before he got anywhere near Esteban. The drug lord frowned and listened to his hushed report with a hard expression before growling something under his breath and shoving the man back towards the exit, hissing grated words in Spanish, too low and fast for Hannibal to follow, but he picked up the odd, clipped phrase. They apparently weren't sure if he and Face were alone, or if there were others too, and that at least told Hannibal that BA and Murdock were still okay, and hopefully following orders and getting the hell out of Colombia.

Esteban looked at the colonel for a long moment, gun pointing at Face's head again, and then snarled angrily, and Hannibal thought he was going to do it; pull the trigger, kill his boy right there in front of him, and he stopped breathing...

But then a guard circled his chair and deftly unlocked the cuffs, freeing his bloody wrists and ankles.

"Stay there, Colonel John Smith, or I put a bullet in his pretty head," Esteban warned. A bucket of water was brought in and placed by the door and the drug lord smiled sweetly. "You see I'm not the sadistic moron you think I am. I'm really a nice guy once you get to know me," he winked. "I'll give you an hour to remember where my cocaine is, and then I want to know. Or, your pretty boy will pay the price. ¿Entiendes?"

The icy cold look Hannibal pinned Esteban with was taken as tacit agreement and the guards and the drug lord left, bolting the heavy door locked after them.

Hannibal quickly jumped from his chair and caught Face as the adrenalin rushed out of him and he pitched forward.

"Oh my god, Tem," he breathed shakily, swallowing hard over the sudden lump in his throat. "Are you alright?"

A cynical softly snuffled laugh warmed Hannibal's neck, "Oh yeah man, I've been worse. Remember Somalia?"

Somalia? Fuck, that was a memory Hannibal _definitely_ would rather not remember. But he didn't quite agree with Face, this mission certainly ranked right up there as being just as colossally fucked up.

"I'm so sorry," Hannibal murmured brokenly into Face's limp, dirty hair. Then the image of the kid falling from the helicopter and into the pool hit him again. "When you fell... I thought you were dead, kid," he said, voice raw, and held him tighter, pausing when Face yelped, and then Hannibal remembered that he'd been shot and the Colonel took over.

"Boss-"

"You were shot. How bad?" Hannibal asked, hands gently pulling back blood soaked material of Face's torn pants to reveal the wound. "Oh Face..."

It was a mess. Hannibal felt Face's forehead to confirm the fever he knew he had and looked down into swollen eyes, fever bright with pain.

"Actually a bit better now you're here," Face whispered with a small, tight smile. Hannibal stroked the sweaty hair back and nodded.

He helped Face to sit up against the wall and brought over the bucket, finding a small plastic cup floating on the water. He filled it and gave it to Face, who took it in shaky hands. Ripping a piece of cloth from his shirt and dipping it in the cool liquid, Hannibal then started to clean the blood from his boy's face.

"Hmm, nice place," Face murmured as his eyes scanned the dimly lit, barren room. "Could really do with a window, some furniture, maybe a chaise longue... a back door..."

"Yeah," Hannibal agreed softly and pressed the cloth to the cut above Face's eye.

"So, what happened?" Face asked, wanting to know how and why Hannibal was there, too. The colonel tilted Face's chin up an inspected the puffy bruising around his eyes.

"Got caught inspecting your handiwork in the jungle."

Face's eyes widened and then closed, a frown creasing the kid's sweaty forehead. Hannibal gently cupped his face.

"Hey, you did the right thing, Tem," he murmured. "You did it to survive. You hear me?"

Nodding reluctantly, Face opened his eyes and sighed. "You came back for me," he breathed softly.

Hannibal smiled tenderly, vowing, "I'll always come for you."

Then as Face's fuzzy brain caught up, he remembered the mission and looked up sharply, "Where're BA and Murdock? Did you get Gloria and the children away safe?"

"Calm down," Hannibal urged when Face became a little frantic. "Gloria and the kid's are with their grandfather in the States. BA and Murdock _should_ be one the way back home, but..."

They both sighed hard. They were a team, and they knew Murdock and BA were already on their way back to Esteban's instead.

"Here, drink some more... Face?" Hannibal frowned worried as Face's eyes widened. "What's wrong?"

"She's here."

Hannibal blinked. "Who's here?"

"Genoa," Face said and Hannibal's mind immediately went to a very dark place.

"Martine Genoa? Are you sure?" he asked, voice rough and very low.

"Rosanna Genoa," Face answered and looked at Hannibal. "And if she's here, so is... M-Martine," he reasoned. And even if it sounded a little crazy, Hannibal wasn't about to dismiss the possibility.

Frowning hard, he rinsed out the cloth and tended to Face's thigh, wincing at the puffy, weeping mess. "When did you see Rosanna?"

"Earlier. She wants us to help her escape here. Can you believe that?" Face laughed, slightly hysterically, and then jerked yelping when Hannibal touched the cloth to the wound.

"Sorry, but this is infected," Hannibal murmured. He examined it closely, "Did you _cauterise_ this?"

"Aw man, I lost another cap," Face mumbled around his finger as he gently probed his sore gums and teeth, adding, "Yeah. Fuckin' thing wouldn't stop bleeding," and Hannibal's stomach turned. Jesus Christ. An image of his boy, hurt and all alone in the jungle, filled his head, and tears prickled his eyes. He sat back on his haunches and hung his head.

"I'm so sorry I left you behind, Tem," he murmured.

Face looked up and blinked. "You had to, boss. You had the woman and the kids to get to safety," he shrugged into his cup, echoing Hannibal's own words, "You did the right thing."

Hannibal sighed and nodded. "Yeah, maybe, but..." He blew out a shuddering breath, "But if anything happened to you because I left you behind..." He meant if Face was killed, but couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Hey, the day's still young," Face grinned joking, adding with a confused look, "Is it still daytime, right?"

Although Face tried to make light of the situation they were in, they both knew their time left was extremely limited. Esteban was going to kill them, whether they told him what he wanted to know, or not. And this 'hour' he'd given them together... both Face and Hannibal knew that game too. Give the condemned some precious time together... makes the torture all the more sweeter.

Calling Emilio Esteban a fucking sadistic moron was being conservative. The bastard was so much worse.

"So, Rosanna Genoa wants us to help her escape from here?" Hannibal said, repeating the words Face said earlier. Face snorted and nodded. "What else did she say?"

"Hannibal, you can't possibly be thinking of _helping_ her," Face balked, wincing when his split lips pulled. "The bitch tried to kill me!"

"Technically, that was Martine," the colonel shrugged. Face just glared at him. Hannibal sighed. With no weapons, one man down, and Esteban and his trigger happy goons crawling all over the place, he knew the odds weren't in their favour. "We've no way of escape here. The door is solid and bolted. There're no windows. Only one way out of here, kid, and that's in a body bag. And I don't wanna see if they have ones in our size. So, what else did she say?"

"She said she'd help us if we helped her," Face muttered reluctantly. He didn't trust Rosanna, but apparently their options were seriously limited.

"Okay. Is she coming back anytime soon?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

"Yeah, sorry Kid," Hannibal nodded and sat back against the cold, hard wall next to Face. "How's the stomach?"

"Sore, aching, agony... just like the rest of me," Face sighed miserably.

"You know we're going to have a long, long, _long_ talk about the advantages of medical leave and lying about being fit for work when we get home, don't you?" Hannibal smiled, but the underlying serious worry for his boy stopped the smile from reaching his eyes.

"Yeah, I know boss, and I'm looking forward to that. Really," Face chuckled before swallowing hard and looking over at Hannibal. Home just seemed so far away.

"Face, I can give Esteban his cocaine back, I know where it is," Hannibal whispered after a moment. Face shook his head.

"You know that's not all he wants though, boss." And Hannibal unfortunately knew that, too.

With Gloria as a material witness to a murder by Esteban's hand, the drug lord wanted her as well. And neither Face nor Hannibal negotiated with lives.

"I won't trade my life for hers," Face said. "Besides, the bastard will only kill me anyway."

"Us... he'll kill us," Hannibal corrected, because the second Esteban took Face's life, Hannibal was going to kill _him_, and that would probably be his last act alive.

Face looked horrified. "No, boss-"

"Face, don't argue with your colonel," Hannibal interrupted softly and wiped away the tears teetering on Face's lashes.

"Let's just hope BA and Murdock can pull a rabbit outta the hat then, and have an awesome rescue plan hidden up their sleeves," Face hoped desperately, "Because I sure would like to go home now."

"Me too, kid, me too," Hannibal agreed.

"And so we have to hang on until then," Face continued with such blind faith that Hannibal's chest constricted painfully. "Okay? I can take it, boss, whatever Esteban does to me, I can take it. Just don't tell him anything..."

Hannibal sighed and closed his eyes. He felt utterly helpless, and seeing his boy hurt and bleeding was almost too much to take. But he nodded and tried to latch onto that blind faith too, silently hoping Rosanna Genoa _could_ help them as well.

ooo

"Jesus, that C4 packed a punch," Murdock mumbled when he saw the downed trees and chaos of the small patch of devastated jungle. He turned to BA and glanced down at his ankle. "How's the ol' foot holding up, big guy?"

"Fuckin' hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, but I'll manage," BA grumbled limping to the small log Murdock was perched on. The pilot held out a Snickers bar.

"Chocolate?"

"Thanks, man," BA grinned, tore open the candy and devoured half in one bite. Murdock nibbled the chocolate from the side of his own first before chewing off the peanut filled caramel topping.

"So, looks like the CCTV is still working," he said conversationally, sucking on the nougat. BA jerked his head up and frowned when he saw the little lights blinking bright red in the dark of the evening. Well that kind of put a crimp in their plan.

"Shit."

"Yeah," Murdock agreed. "So, new plan." He tossed a stone in the air and caught it. "Any ideas?"

BA watched the stone for a few seconds before he snatched it away mid air.

"Hey!" Murdock frowned and stuffed the rest of his candy bar into his mouth. BA growled at him. Murdock glared back before a slow grin lit his face up. He leaned down and grabbed a passing insect carefully in his fingers.

"What you got there, fool?" BA asked warily, not really a huge fan of anything that had more than four legs. Murdock held up his prize.

"This, my dear Bosco, is a young Titan beetle. It's found in the jungles of Central and South America and is pretty rare!" he grinned and held it towards BA. The big guy reeled back.

"Get that thing away from me!" he yelped.

"Aw but Bosco, he ain't gonna hurt ya," Murdock smiled and held it up again, watching the beetles mandibles snap together.

"Whatever, fool, just get it away from me," BA growled again. "Anyway, how's that thing gonna help us?"

Murdock snapped off a length of shoe lace from his boot and carefully tied it around the beetle's large body, and a slow smile filled BA's face.

"Riiight," he nodded.

"I reckon we'll have about seven seconds before this little sucker bites through the lace," Murdock mused, looking at the beetle curiously. "Should be enough time to jump down and find cover... even with your bum ankle."

And the plan was back in motion.

Attaching the dangling beetle to the top of the camera whilst trying to avoid the sharp pincers was tricky, but Murdock managed it, and the beetle obscured the view long enough for him and BA to jump from the wall and quickly scramble away unseen.

"Okay, back to plan A," Murdock whispered. "Kill the bad guys, find Hannibal and rescue Face, and go home." He grinned suddenly, "Hey, we could take Little Bastard as our getaway car!"

BA rolled his eyes. "Shut up, fool. It ain't there. Esteban ain't got Little Bastard!"

"Well, that's from your mouth to God's ears, ain't it?" Murdock mumbled and poked his tongue out at BA, before adding with a cautious frown, "Oh, and be careful of animals of the canine variety."

"Ah shit," BA muttered as they quietly moved off. He'd forgotten about the fucking dogs.

Plan A sounded simple, but they both knew it was anything but.

ooo

The bedroom door crashed open and Esteban stormed in, face twisted in anger. Martine Genoa, his lover, sat up in the bed, vodka Martini in her hand.

"Problem, Emilio?" she asked. Esteban shot her a warning glare and Martine closed her mouth.

"Fucking bastard _hijo de puta_! Thinks he can play me?" the drug lord ranted and yanked off his waist coat and shirt. Buttons bounced on the floor and Martine flicked at the odd one that landed on the silk sheets.

She climbed out of bed and offered her drink to him, which he took and gulped down. "Anything I can help with, baby?"

Esteban moved so fast that Martine's eyes nearly popped from their sockets, and he tightened the grip he had around her throat, hissing, "I told you to keep your fucking nose out of my business, bitch." He threw her on the bed and she quickly scrambled away, eyes warily watching Esteban angrily pace the floor.

"Bastard comes into my house... takes my wife, my children... _my cocaine_!" he rambled, "And then thinks he can play me? _Colonel John Smith_!" He looked at Martine. "He thinks I don't know that's a false name? John Smith... Who the fuck uses that name anymore! It's so obvious!"

Martine listened silently, her mind whirling wildly at the mention of the colonel's name. Esteban had the leader of The A-Team in his basement and didn't even know it! It was laughable.

When she'd manipulated her way into Emilio's bed, angry, penniless and desperate, it was to seduce the drug lord into the giving her the kind of luxurious life that she, Martine Genoa, thought she deserved! But the bastard was a tyrant and a bully, and she was sick of him beating her, telling her what to do, treating her like shit... like he treated his wife.

Martine was now beginning to realise that she'd mistaken the attention the drug lord paid to her as nothing but meaningless sex, and Esteban would probably kill her as soon as he was fed up with her, and she was scared.

She had actually felt sorry for Gloria Esteban when she first arrived, and now was secretly, and perversely, pleased the woman had managed to escape with Esteban's children... because that _really_ pissed the man off.

With her mind working fast, she decided that revenge could now be even sweeter, against her ruthless boyfriend, and the man who was partly responsible for murdering her one true love, Jerry Cottonwood.

And maybe collect the nice reward the military had for the capture of the leader of The A-Team, too.

Deciding to execute her plans to leave Esteban _with_ her consolation prize, Martine quietly plotted as she watched the man yank on a new shirt and suit, and then leave again.

She just hoped he didn't kill Smith first.

ooo

"Ah, now that is touching," Emilio smirked when he walked into the basement, closely followed by his men, and saw Face and Hannibal sat side by side, the kid's head leaning on the colonel's shoulder.

Face jerked upright and glared at Esteban, startling when he felt the soft touch of a woman's hand on his wrist. "Leave me alone," he hissed at Rosanna and pulled his arm away.

"Miss Genoa is only making sure you're not going to die anytime soon," Esteban explained patiently. "I want you alive for some time yet."

"His pulse is a little fast, sir, but it's regular," Rosanna mumbled and left the room. The drug lord crouched by Face's side and smiled. Both he and Hannibal sat rigidly still.

"She's a nurse. Was a good one in the States before she and her sister were terrorised and forced to flee the country. Sad story," Esteban shook his head woefully. Face just stared at him. A sad story? Terrorised and forced to flee? Jesus Christ, he couldn't be further from the truth if he tried!

"Still," the man grinned and stood up, "Their loss is my gain. Rosanna is handy around the place, and Martine, well... she's a hot little _puta_. Fucks like a bitch in heat."

He snapped his fingers and all the guards in the room pulled out their guns and aimed them at Face, before Hannibal was hauled up and his wrists cuffed to the chair again. The colonel went without protest, the threat to shoot Face very real.

"So," Esteban smiled and slapped his hands together. "You remembered where my cocaine is, Colonel Smith?"

Hannibal swallowed hard and clamped his mouth shut tight. Esteban sighed.

"Wrong answer," he hissed and Face was dragged into the centre of the room. The drug lord ordered a guard to cuff him, and as soon as Face was incapacitated, Esteban took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and aimed his fist into the side of the kid's head.

Face was expecting the blow and instinctively moved, the impact glancing off his cheek with little damage.

"Hold him," Esteban barked angrily and a guard viciously yanked Face upright and held him firmly as Esteban drew back his fist and smashed it right on target. Hannibal heard the sickening sound of crunching as flesh impacted flesh and watched, barely holding in the urge to yell out, as Face fell to the side, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. He looked up to see Esteban rubbing his knuckles and staring hard back at him.

"I ask you again, Colonel Smith, where is my cocaine?"

Hannibal looked at Face and saw him struggling to breathe through the blood filling his mouth, but his fevered blue eyes narrowed sharply and the kid shook his head determinedly. Hannibal's heart splintered some more as he looked up and stubbornly stared silently ahead.

Face was yanked upright again, and Esteban drove the heel of his foot into the kid's midriff knocking the wind from him. Face doubled over groaning, but a swift, brutal kick to his ribs had him sprawled on the floor again.

"You know, I have all night, Colonel Smith," Esteban said as he walked to one of his guards and held out his hand. Hannibal's eyes widened when a sharp knife was handed over. "But I don't think your man does."

He barked an order to his men and in thirty seconds flat, Face was shirtless, and hanging by a rope threaded through his cuffs and suspended from a hook in the ceiling, feet barely touching the floor. The metal of the cuffs cruelly bit into the soft skin around Face's wrists and blood slowly flowed in rivulets down his arms, curving around the taught muscles.

Hannibal's jaw set hard when he saw the mass of bruises on his lieutenant's torso, and the way Face was gasping and struggling to breathe confirmed cracked if not broken ribs, too.

"So, Colonel Smith," Esteban said, his back to the man, "My cocaine. Where is it?"

A harsh gasp drew the drug lord's dangerous attention to Face. He smiled coldly and dragged the sharp tip of the knife over the pale, bruised skin, leaving a trail of red from diaphragm to navel. Face shuddered and forced himself to steadily breathe through it.

"Where's my cocaine?" Esteban asked again almost matter of fact. He waited a few seconds before the knife dipped below Face's low hanging pants, and scored a deep red line up from his pubic hair to his navel to meet the first. Face's eyes widened, but he doggedly remained silent.

And then Esteban saw the surgery scar. He stroked his fingers over the smooth pink skin and grinned when Face flinched.

"Where's my cocaine?" he repeated looking at Hannibal, and then viciously jabbed his fingers into the scar site. Face's muffled cry tore at Hannibal's heart, and he ground his teeth together hard to stop himself from screaming out exactly what Esteban wanted to know. Anything to stop the bastard hurting his boy!

Face tried to drag air into his lungs but the intense pain paralysed him, and he saw bright flashes in the darkness that clouded his vision. He could no longer feel his arms, and his head pounded mercilessly. His whole body was a mass of hurt, but he prayed that Hannibal could hold on...

Esteban circled the man suspended from his ceiling and Hannibal silently watched every step. The drug lord had to admit that he was impressed with the tenacity of the colonel, but that didn't tell him where his ten million dollars worth of merchandise was. Then his eyes caught sight of the bloody wound on Face's thigh.

"Where is my cocaine?"

When Hannibal still didn't answer, Esteban brutally pushed the knife into the swollen, infected tissue.

And Face threw his head back and screamed.

"Yes! Now isn't that a good sound?" Esteban crowed delighted, and twisted the blade making Face gasp and his body writhe in agony. "Scream again, little bitch!"

"Fffuck _you_!" Face spat hoarsely and clamped his teeth together hard, just barely keeping in the harsh cries when the drug lord stabbed deeper.

Hannibal watched in utter horror as Face twisted and shuddered. The anguish he felt tore him inside out at the pain Face was going through at the hands of that sadistic bastard, and the fact that he tried so hard not to cry out sent icy cold shards of fear deep into his gut.

Blood ran freely down Face's arms and leg, and Hannibal could see he was so close to passing out and he prayed for it. A moments respite from the brutal torment he was suffering.

How much more could Face possibly take? Hannibal didn't want to even try and guess. The kid was hurting, had a raging fever from an infected wound, and it wouldn't surprise Hannibal if he had internal injuries, too. He was deathly worried for his lieutenant, and seriously didn't know how much more of this he could take either.

"Get... off me, you... sick fuck!"

Face's desperate, rough grunt snapped Hannibal back in an instant to see Esteban laughing as he ruthlessly and shamelessly groped his genitals.

"Leave him alone!"

"Ahhh, the colonel speaks!" The drug lord stood tall and cocked his head at Hannibal. "So, now you have found your tongue again, tell me where my cocaine is."

Hannibal clenched his fists, his sticky fingers digging into his palms and defiantly stuck his chin out and stayed stubbornly silent. Esteban shook his head and sighed.

"I have to say your boy has quite a..." he motioned to Face's groin with his eyes. "But I'm not a fucking fag," he spat in disgust. And then a wide smile twisted his mouth as he called, "Santos!"

The huge gorilla that beat Face up earlier came into the dim light, already groping himself suggestively.

"Santos, on the other hand, I'm sure would _love_ to have a go with that fine ass," Esteban said. "But I don't think I'd be able to guarantee that your boy would survive such an encounter." He leaned down close to Hannibal and whispered theatrically, "I've heard rumours that anyone Santos fucks ends up in a wheel chair. Or dead." Chuckling, Esteban stood up again and looked at Face. "Literally fucked to death, but what a way to go, si?"

Face just glared at him, trying his best to ignore the hungry, lusty looks from Santos the gorilla next to him.

Sauntering over to his torture victim again, Esteban pulled his belt from his pants and coiled each end around his hands. He walked to the back of Face and looped the leather around his throat.

Hannibal held Face's wide eyes and felt the fear and terror rush through him as he waited for-

"Where is my cocaine?"

And still holding his boy's gaze, he kept his mouth shut, and Esteban viciously tightened the noose.

Face's body jerked and his eyes rolled, his mouth desperately gulping for air that wouldn't come. Hannibal felt himself shaking and holding his breath... he was watching his friend, his team mate dying before him, and was helpless to stop it.

Or was he? And before he knew he'd even made a sound, he'd gasped, "Stop it! Okay, I'll tell you!"

A satisfied grim smile replaced the teeth baring growl, and the drug lord loosened the belt. Face gulped in huge lungful of air and coughed hoarsely, his bloodshot and bruised eyes watering. He looked at Hannibal and saw the apologies in the form of tears, and sighed.

"Sr. Esteban?"

Hannibal's eyes slid past Face and fell on the guard with a telephone in his hand walking into the room. Esteban spun around angrily and the guard visibly recoiled in fear.

"What is it!"

"Lo siento, Sr. Korsakov está en el teléfono," the guard mumbled cautiously offering the handset to the drug lord. Hannibal saw a flash of fear cross Esteban's face for a second before he grabbed the 'phone and stormed out of the room in a hurry, barking a hurried hushed order to a guard on the door.

Santos and all but that one guard left Hannibal and Face alone and silently staring at each other in the centre of the dim room.

"I'm sorry, Face," Hannibal whispered regretfully. Face nodded and smiled tightly.

"S'okay... Hannibal," he gasped, voice dry and raw. He could feel that pull of darkness again but forced himself to stay awake.

Hannibal looked carefully at his lieutenant and frowned in anguish. Face was barely conscious and bleeding heavily from his thigh and he could clearly hear the rasps in his breathing, each breath sounding painful and harsh.

At this rate, he knew Face wouldn't last much longer.

"How bad, kid?" he asked softly, mindful of the guard at the end of the room. "Bad?"

Face looked at Hannibal and nodded. He wasn't going to lie now. He felt dizzy and weak, like the life was flowing out of him with the blood steadily dripping down his leg and pooling on the floor. He just wanted to close his eyes and slip away to a pain free oblivion, but he still had faith in his team, his family, and in Hannibal, and so hung on for them... and for Hannibal.

But he honestly didn't know how much longer he could do that.

He caught Hannibal's eyes and held them, sorrow and regret shining through his tears, and mouthed the words, "sorry, boss." And as Hannibal understood, a small shaky smile graced his lips and he nodded silently back.

ooo

Carefully picking up the handset of the garishly opulent telephone in the bedroom, Martine quietly listened to the conversation with interest.

Korsakov, a name she knew was linked with the Russian mob scene, was demanding where his cocaine was, and Esteban sounded terrified. A sly grin twisted her ruby red lips. The Russian wanted to meet with him! That was even better. And she put the phone down after Esteban finished the call.

It was soon time to put her plan into play, and she wondered what state Smith was in.

ooo

Even the guard jumped as the door crashed open to the dim basement room, and Esteban stormed in with a murderous look on his face. Hannibal sucked in a hard breath and held it. It seemed the situation had turned desperate, and seriously dangerous.

Face, barely conscious, slid his eyes over to the small trolley wheeled by his side by Santos, who smiled menacingly at him, letting his dark eyes devour the blood stained body with a depraved undisguised hunger, and Face felt even more nauseated than he already did.

Esteban stood in front of Hannibal and scowled at him. "Tell me where my cocaine is!" he growled. Hannibal looked up and stared at him.

The change in the drug lord's mood was shocking; whoever he had talked to on the telephone had obviously said something he didn't like, and Hannibal guessed it was a disgruntled customer, and one with more clout than Esteban.

"Where is my cocaine?"

"Let my boy go and I'll tell you," Hannibal said, cold, calculating, hard eyes boring into the drug lord's furious brown ones. Esteban raised his fist and swung it at the colonel's face, splitting his lip. Hannibal deliberately spat the blood at the man, spraying red on his white shirt, and Esteban hit him again. The colonel took the blows easily, silently relieved that the attention was on him and off Face for the moment.

Through the haze of fever induced flashes, and the sickeningly swaying room, Face could see Esteban raining down hit after hit on his colonel. The rational side of his brain that was still lucid realised what the boss was doing, and he sighed. Hannibal was deflecting the attention from him.

And while Esteban wasn't torturing him, Face wasn't closer to dying, and it gave BA and Murdock more time to get there and rescue them.

Because he still, of course, had faith his team would come...

"Tell me, bastardo! Tell me where it is!" Esteban screamed, and Hannibal just smiled coldly at him, his bloody teeth mocking. Esteban yelled out a string of curses and pushed red, sticky hands into his hair.

He turned back to Face and sneered, and Hannibal's blood ran cold.

"Where is it, colonel?" the drug lord asked again, and Hannibal could hear the strain in his voice.

"I told you, let the boy go and I'll tell you," he answered, spitting out another mouthful of blood on the floor. Esteban walked over to the small trolley and picked up a taser gun, depressing the trigger and looking at Hannibal as the electric current danced between the points on the end.

He didn't ask the question again, but jammed the end against Face's torso and let rip.

Face jerked and screamed harshly through teeth that were tightly clamped together as the electric shock painfully assaulted every one of his nerves. Fresh blood snaked down the kid's arms as his body jolted and shook wildly. He was nearly unconscious when Esteban stopped.

"Where is my cocaine, Colonel Smith?" the drug lord sighed and hovered the taser over Face's surgical scar. Hannibal could see his boy's eyes rolling, and his lips tinged slightly blue against his deathly pale pallor, and his heart pounded in fear.

He prayed that he was making the right decision when he repeated, "Let him go and I'll tell you."

The shock to his already weakened system proved too much this time, and Face's violent fitting quickly ceased, his head hanging limply on his chest, body deathly still.

Hannibal held his breath, absolutely terrified that his lieutenant, his brave Ranger had gone, and watched anxiously as Esteban groped around Face's neck with his fingers looking for a pulse.

The look on the drug lord's face confirmed what Hannibal feared, and as Face was cut down, tears streamed down his face, and his heart shattered.

Face was dead. His boy... was dead.

A small part of him was relieved that he was no longer suffering, but that same part was screaming, and screaming, and Hannibal couldn't think anymore. He stared blankly as Esteban slapped Face's cheek and shouted orders to fetch the nurse, but he couldn't hear anything other than the static that filled his ears. A cold, hard, black and empty static.

And his mind narrowed on one, sole, deadly task as his eyes focussed on Esteban.

The drug lord was damned if he was going to lose his bargaining chip. The stupid, weak boy was _not_ going to die – he wasn't finished with him yet!

"Get over here!" he barked when Rosanna Genoa hurried into the room, bag in her hand, and shocked look on her face.

"Is he... is he dead?" she asked. Esteban pulled her down and fisted her shirt.

"You revive him, or you'll be joining him," he threatened and roughly let her go. Rosanna quickly searched for a pulse with trembling fingers, and after finding none, tipped Face's head back and started CPR, breathing life giving breath into his starved lungs, and pumping his chest. She winced as she felt his cracked ribs grate and creak beneath her hands and prayed they didn't break and puncture his lungs.

Thirty compressions later, Rosanna breathed for Face again, and a harsh, desperate gasp yanked Hannibal's attention back to them, and he watched wide eyed as the woman carefully held Face and encouraged him to breathe.

His boy was alive!

Oh God, Face was alive and Esteban was going to kill him all over again. Hannibal silently struggled against his cuffs, ripping the skin of his wrists when he saw the sadistic twist of the drug lord's face, and prayed to God that he could send a miracle _very_ soon... hopefully in the form of BA and Murdock.

Because they'd run out of time.

"String him back up," Esteban ordered when he saw Face breathing. Rosanna tightened her grip on her patient's body and glared at the drug lord.

"No," she blurted, swallowing hard when Esteban's eyes widened and he loomed menacingly over her. "I mean, he's too weak right now, señor," she explained. "You torture him some more and you'll just kill him quickly again. I need to... run some fluids, give him some stabilising drugs. Then he'll last longer."

Esteban considered her words, and nodded. He still had a little time until he needed to meet Korsakov, and he _really_ needed the Russian's cocaine. So, he needed the kid alive long enough to torture effectively, to make Colonel Smith tell him where the fuck it was.

"You have one half hour, Genoa," he hissed, "And then he's mine."

Genoa nodded quickly, already pulling out supplies from her bag. Esteban left with his entourage, leaving one guard at the solid door.

A moment later, she deftly injected the contents of a syringe into Face's muscle.

"What was that?" Hannibal growled watching anxiously as Genoa tapped the kid's face and urged him awake.

"Hey, can you hear me?" she asked Face, ignoring the man cuffed to the chair, and peeled back his eye lids and frowned.

"Leave him alone," Hannibal growled. She looked up and scowled, her dark eyes narrowing at the hateful glare Hannibal threw at her.

"I'm trying to help him," she spat and turned back to her patient. Hannibal returned the scowl. Help him to help her, more like, he thought maliciously.

Face moaned softly and fought his way back to reality, sucking in a painful, shaky breath when his body suddenly reminded him why that was a bad idea.

"No, stay with me," Rosanna murmured and patted his face again. "That's it, wake up..."

"Ooooffuck..." Face groaned as each injury screamed in agony. Residual shocks from the taser gun made him shudder and his chest felt like an elephant had sat on it. He forced his eyes open, moaning pitifully when he saw Rosanna looking down at him. "Shit, haven't we escaped from here yet?"

Glancing up at the guard, Rosanna ignored Face and concealed a loaded syringe in her hand, before standing up and walking towards the door. She murmured something to the big man guarding it. Hannibal watched her carefully while Face slowly came to his senses fully, and was surprised when the guard suddenly hit the floor. Maybe she was helping...

She checked his pockets, but with a frown hurried back over to Face and Hannibal.

"I don't have a key," she said looking at both their cuffs. Hannibal shook his head and noticed her hair.

"Do you have a bobby pin?" he asked. She nodded. "Give it to Face."

She slipped it into Face's sticky fingers, and in less than six seconds, the kid's cuff's opened. He grinned and sluggishly shuffled over to Hannibal, unlocking one cuff. The colonel then took the pin and did the other.

Rosanna busied herself filling another syringe, but stopped when a large hand circled her wrist. "What did you give him before, and what's that?" he asked dangerously.

"It was just a painkiller," she gasped, "I just gave him a painkiller!"

"And that?"

"Morphine. It'll help with the tremors and pain, because we need to leave _now_," she said wide eyed. Hannibal glanced at Face and saw him trying to manage the pain he was in, and nodded, letting go of her arm.

"Face? I'm going to give you something to help the pain, okay?" She smiled grimly when Face nodded.

The kid was in a state. Apart from being recently dead, he was bleeding, bruised, fevered and shocky. Hannibal grimaced when he saw his leg and pulled out a dressing from Genoa's bag and quickly wrapped it around the wound. Face gasped and moaned, but thankfully stayed awake.

Hannibal then helped Face to stand. "Can you walk?" he asked hopefully, but Face looked doubtfully down at his leg and shrugged. "Okay," the colonel nodded and dragged one of his lieutenant's arms over his shoulder, mindful of his bloodied and torn wrists, bearing all the kid's weight.

"Okay, I've sedated the guard, we have to go, now," Rosanna murmured and stood up too. "The way to the wine cellars is usually unguarded at this time of night, so I think we should go that way. There's a back way out there."

"You're sure?" Hannibal asked the woman as they headed towards the door. She nodded. "You have any weapons?"

"No, sorry," she answered anxiously. Face looked at her guardedly.

"What about your kit? Any knives?" he asked, swollen eyes wary. They narrowed when she suddenly nodded and pulled out a sharp pair of scissors. Both Face and Hannibal exchanged a quick look. The colonel took the scissors and pocketed them.

Rosanna was right. The route to the wine cellar in the basement was unguarded, and they quietly made their way there, Rosanna leading the way and Hannibal and Face following. It was slow going with Face's painful injuries, but they made good time as, by Hannibal's reckoning, Esteban and his goons weren't due back for another few minutes yet.

Unfortunately, once in the cellar, their luck ran out and they found themselves standing and staring down the barrel of a small calibre pistol, a small feminine hand holding it.

"Well, hello, dear sister," Martine Genoa announced, her voice silky and cold. Both Face and Hannibal flinched.

The evil bitch queen herself.

"You," Hannibal growled dangerously, but Martine just laughed delightfully. It sounded creepy. She grinned at her sister again.

"So, Rosy, where are you going?"

"N-nowhere," Rosanna stuttered, eyes wide and staring in fear at the gun in her sister's hand.

"I hope you weren't trying to steal my prize here, although..." she squinted her gaze and looked at Face, just barely recognising him through the bruises and blood. "Is that you, Peck?"

Face unconsciously gripped Hannibal tighter.

"Oh my God, a double treat! Two members of The A-Team!" Martine grinned. "How's the stomach?" she asked Face lightly, her eyes lingering on the expanse of naked skin. He cringed and felt Hannibal protectively shield him from her glare slightly.

Martine smirked at the action. This was better than she'd expected. The man who was partly responsible for her true love's death, and the man who had _killed_ him. Perfect!

It was just a shame the other two members of Smith's unit weren't there too, then she could have her revenge all wrapped up in a neat little A-Team package. Still, this was good enough. She cocked her gun towards the door, "Well, I'd love to stand around and chat all night, but we do have to go, boys."

Hyper aware of the way Face was weakening by his side, Hannibal eyed the gun and decided it wasn't the right time to risk his boy's life, and reluctantly headed to the door. Rosanna followed carefully behind, with Martine, loaded gun at their backs and a huge grin on her face, last.

ooo

"Señor Korsakov, I'll have your cocaine... Si, one hour," Esteban said, bit his lip uneasily and checked his watch. He didn't have time to play around now. The Russian wanted his cocaine, and even if he had to flay his victim alive, he had to make the colonel talk!

He put the 'phone down, poured himself another scotch and knocked it back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and thought about his wife and children. Once he had his merchandise and his deal with the Russian was concluded, he was going to find that bitch and kill her; and her kids, too.

And the colonel was going to tell him where they were, or he was going to die an excruciatingly slow and painful death.

"Okay, let's go," he ordered, and headed back down to the basement.

ooo

Murdock stealthily crept towards a low wall and crouched behind it, his eyes peering over the top. In the harsh illumination of the security lights, he could see two dogs busy in the flower beds under the huge picture windows of the house and cautiously waved BA over, who limped awkwardly to his side.

"Two dogs over there, where the rest are I haven't a clue," the pilot whispered with a frown. "No sign of Hannibal either."

At this point, they were beginning to fear that the boss had been captured, too.

They then tensed when three men came from the side of the house and started shouting. Dogs appeared from nowhere and ran towards the noise, and the two hidden men grinned.

"Feeding time at the zoo," Murdock quipped, relieved beyond measure that they didn't have to deal with the vicious creatures – again!

Crawling alongside the wall, they inched closer to the house, and to the staff entrance, hoping that, like before, it was clear. But just to be cruel and testy, fate placed two men within sight of the door, both armed and smoking what smelled suspiciously like weed.

"Y'know, I'm gonna leave the plannin' up to the bossman in the future," Murdock griped and sat on his butt. To draw the least amount of unwanted attention, they had to wait for the men to leave. But how long was that going to take?

BA grunted as his ass hit the ground and he winced when a spasm of pain shot up his leg from his ankle. Murdock watched him anxiously knowing that with his bum leg, BA could cost them all their lives if it gave way at a crucial moment.

"How many Dilaudid did you take already, Bosco?"

"Don't worry 'bout me, Murdock," he murmured, "I'm okay."

"Yeah, I know but... if we hafta run, Bosco... Can you?" Murdock asked. BA turned and held the pilot's fearful gaze.

"If I have to, I'll run across the whole fuckin', godforsaken jungle. Alright?"

A moment passed, and then Murdock nodded. He knew BA would do it, too.

A noise had both men hunker down and fingers poised on triggers. Murdock carefully glanced over the wall to see a man shouting at the two guards for smoking drugs and getting high on duty. He watched curiously as the chastised guards had their joints confiscated and were sent away, but the one man stayed. BA lifted his gun, screwed on the silencer and aimed.

"No, wait," Murdock hissed quickly. BA glared at him. "That's Miguel!"

"Who the fuck is Miguel, fool?"

Murdock grinned, "Gloria's friendly guard."

BA lowered his gun and looked incredulously at the man near the staff door. "How d'ya know that?"

Pulling a small flashlight from his pocket, Murdock pointed it to Miguel and flashed it twice in quick succession. BA frowned.

"You better be right, fool, or we dead!"

"Oh, I'm right. Gloria described him right down to the bald patch on his head," the pilot winked as the man nonchalantly sauntered over to the wall, as if he was enjoying a leisurely stroll in the warm night air. Murdock knew he was taking a huge risk revealing their position, but he was sure he was right.

BA lifted his gun again; friendly guard or not, he didn't trust the man.

"There's a gun aimed at you," Murdock hissed into the darkness, "The answer to this next question determines whether you live or die."

Miguel stopped in his tracks.

"What's your name?"

"Pompilio Javier Valentín Miguel Jimenez Vega." A heavy silence followed, and the man hastily added, "But everybody calls me Miguel."

"Congratulations, you live."

Both BA and Murdock peered over the wall and saw Miguel motioning towards a large patch of foliage.

"You are the men got Gloria and the children out?" the Colombian man asked as soon as they were together. Murdock nodded. Miguel sighed in relief. "Are they safe?"

"With her father," BA added impatiently. "You know where our friends are at," he stated. "Tell us now."

Miguel felt a shiver of fear at the ferocity in the big guy's eyes, and quickly answered, "Sr. Esteban has them in the basement."

"Both of them?" Murdock confirmed, and Miguel nodded. "Shit. Are they okay?"

"The young man is in a bad way," the Colombian said regretfully, and both BA and Murdock winced. "The older one is alright. For now."

"Then we wastin' time, fools," BA growled, "You take us to them, quietly."

Miguel quickly nodded. "I know a way in through the wine cellars. It's not guarded at night. It'll lead us to the basement where your friends are."

"Great," Murdock agreed. "Lead on, muchacho!"

Three minutes later as they approached the cellar entrance, BA and Murdock couldn't believe what they were seeing. Hannibal and Face, who looked really bad even in the pale light of the moon, were being forced, by gunpoint, into a black limousine by two women. BA grabbed Miguel and yanked him bodily out of sight before they were seen.

"Is that who I think it is?" Murdock asked shocked. BA's eyes grew dark and dangerous as he caught sight of the woman with the gun.

"Son of a fuckin' bitch," he growled harshly. "Genoa!"

"Si, Martine Genoa and her sister, Rosanna. Do you know them?" Miguel confirmed and visibly recoiled when two pairs of seriously furious eyes glared at him.

"Miguel, you distract that bitch, we'll do the rest. Capiche?" Murdock hissed, cocked his gun ready and headed towards the limo; Miguel and BA close on his heels.

ooo

"Rosanna, open the door for our guests," Martine ordered as Hannibal and Face were nudged towards the car with a hard steel shove. The nurse opened the driver's and back door and stood nervously.

Her sister was an utter maniac. Ever since her lover, Jerry Cottonwood had been killed, she'd been twisted with revenge, and had literally dragged her down to South America when the opportunity to live a corrupt life of luxury presented itself. She hadn't wanted to come, but the crazy bitch threatened her, so she'd had no choice.

Martine's twisted, fucked up mind wanted the riches that life with Esteban provided, but she prayed for the day that she'd find Colonel John Smith again, and his men, because – and Martine told Rosanna this every day – she was going to kill them. Twice. And then feed them to the dogs.

And now, her crazy, insane sister had found them, and was stealing them away from the one man that would rip her heart out without a second's hesitation for taking them. In fact, Esteban would kill them all.

"Get in," Martine barked. Hannibal looked at her, saw her wild, volatile eyes, and weighed up the possibility of maybe getting the upper hand if he tried for the gun. But with Face now almost unconscious, and the unpredictability of the unstable woman meant that she'd quite possibly shoot him, or Face, before the kid even hit the floor. But he had to take the chance and focussed his mind...

But then his keen eyes picked up movement in his peripheral vision; three men, two in black, one in a suit, slowly approaching from the side of the house in standard military single file formation.

It had to be BA and Murdock. Who the other guy was, Hannibal didn't care. But if his boys trusted him, then so did he, and he temporarily stalled his plan to try and overpower Martine.

"Am I driving?" he asked her instead as he carefully deposited Face into the back of the limo. The woman shoved her sister in after him and nodded.

"Yeah, with me right next to you. And if you try anything, Smith," she threatened, "I'll kill you, and the lieutenant."

Hannibal nodded and waited until she'd slid across the seats to the passenger's side, her eyes and gun trained on the colonel, before he climbed in after her, sitting in the driver's seat, carefully watching Murdock stealthily move towards the car in the wing mirror.

"Drive," she ordered.

A sharp tap on her tinted window startled her and she shoved the gun into her jacket, still aimed lethally at Hannibal, and opened the window, plastering a huge smile on her red lips.

"Miguel," she said.

"Martine," the man greeted back with a smile and leaned casually on the car, blocking the wing mirror. He lit one of the joints he'd confiscated from the guards and took a small suck. "Does Sr. Esteban know you're borrowing his limousine?"

"Yes, he does, and I'm in a hurry," she nodded wafting the sweet smelling smoke away.

"Oh, okay, well, remember to bring it back with a full tank of gas, si?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Miguel. Now if you don't mind-"

"Oh, you want me to open the gates?" Miguel stalled when he saw BA poised by his feet, gun ready. He knew Murdock would be by the opposite rear door. BA held up three fingers and started counting down.

Three...

"If you wouldn't mind, that'd be good," Martine smiled falsely, a little impatient.

Two...

"Wanna hit? It's good shit," Miguel offered the woman the joint. She batted it away in disgust.

One!

"Your loss, bitch," BA suddenly appeared and hissed harshly, jamming the cold, hard steel of his Glock into her neck. At the same time, Murdock yanked open the rear door and jumped in the limo, his weapon trained at Rosanna's head. BA saw the concealed gun inside Martine's jacket. "Drop the gun, or I blow your fuckin' head off."

Martine hesitated, and for a second, Hannibal felt his heart speed up. And then she pulled out the gun and held it up. The colonel snatched it off her and BA and Miguel piled in the limo, the Glock still biting into Martine's neck as Hannibal started the car and floored it.

He flashed both BA and Murdock a disapproving glance; if they'd followed his orders, the boys should've been long gone by now, but at the same time he was beyond relieved to see them.

BA nodded to him, of course they'd come back, they were a team.

In the back, Murdock watched wide eyed as Rosanna held Face's limp body, her frightened gaze locked on his weapon, but his lingered on his buddy. Facey looked really, _really_ bad. Just what had they done to him?

"Rosanna, you got anything in your bag for Martine here?" Hannibal called from the front. Both BA and Murdock blinked in disbelief at him. "It's okay, boys, she's okay."

Martine looked thunderous at that. Her own sister had betrayed her!

"You fucking bitch," she spat just as Rosanna leaned forward and stuck her in the neck with a syringe. Martine thankfully passed out.

"What the fuck was that?" Murdock exclaimed. "Bossman, what the fuck is going on? What the fuck is _she_ doing here!"

All the expletives, sounding comically foreign blurted from Murdock's mouth, made Hannibal smile. "It's good to see you too, Murdock, and that's a long story, one I'll happily tell you over a cold beer once we're home," he said, his smile falling when he saw Face in the rear view, bloody and bruised, and unconscious. "How's Face?"

"Not good," Rosanna said. Murdock leaned over and placed his fingers against the slick neck of his buddy.

"Pulse is fast, Hannibal." He pressed his hand against Face's forehead and frowned. "He's burning up, too. What happened to him?"

Hannibal's face darkened as he was transported back to that basement room for a moment. "You really don't want to know," he growled lowly, shaking his head as a shudder of unadulterated anger swept through him.

Murdock looked at Face again and his eyes traced each cut, each bruise, and they filled with tears as his mind filled in the blanks, "Oh, Facey..."

BA blew out a breath, his dark gaze flicking between Face and warily eyeing up the woman in the back. Someone was going to pay for what they'd done to Face, _seriously_ pay. No one hurt BA Baracus's family and got away with it! And he didn't really care what Hannibal said about Rosanna either, he wasn't going to trust a Genoa!

"Okay, we're heading for the airstrip in Maní, scam us a plane back to the US," Hannibal said, concern for his lieutenant etched on his face. Miguel looked up and blinked.

"Esteban has an old military plane there that he uses for his drug runs," he said. He wrung his fingers nervously. "It's a C130, I think. Big thing, and with this deal with the Russians stalled right now, because his ten million dollars worth of cocaine is missing, it'll be fuelled and ready to go."

BA's eyes widened, but Murdock jumped back with a hopeful look on his face. "Really?"

"Si."

"Then that's our ticket home," Hannibal added approaching the huge, iron gates. "Miguel. You have a pass code for these?"

The man nodded and jumped out. He waved at the duty guard, "How's the kid's, Juan?"

"They good, Señor Miguel," the guard smiled, seemingly uninterested in the dark, tinted glass of the limousine, and whoever was driving it as he made small talk with the drug lord's trusted right hand man. "I hear Señor Esteban caught the men who took Señora Esteban y los niños."

"Si, Juan," Miguel nodded quickly keying in his six digit pass code into the small, electronic pad by the driveway. "Señor Esteban has them up at the house. I'll be back in the morning. Buenas noches, Juan," he finished and climbed back into the limo. Hannibal narrowed his eyes, watching the guard waving them along through the dark glass, before steadily driving on.

Once through the gates, he increased the speed and headed swiftly towards the airport and freedom.

ooo

When he found the guard unconscious on the floor of the _empty_ basement room, Esteban yelled so loudly that it echoed right through the house.

Just as he was about to rush off, a nervous, out of breath man stopped him with the news that Martine, her sister and Miguel were all missing too, and that Miguel's pass code had _just_ activated the gate.

"I want them found! I want them found and I want them _dead_!" he screamed. "Get me my car, I'm going after them. Santos, round up the men!"

Santos nodded and within minutes, Esteban led a convoy of cars racing after the stolen limousine, his meeting with Korsakov forgotten in a blind rage.

ooo

The airport in Maní was quiet, but there was still a crew of armed guards and personal about the place. Hannibal and Miguel found Esteban's C130, and after Murdock had checked it out, they stashed the car and waited for the all clear to board her.

With the night still upon them, it was easy to make their way undetected across the tarmac with an injured man and an unconscious woman, and as soon as they were aboard, Murdock slipped into the pilot's seat.

"Welcome to Murdock Air. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened and your tray tables and seats are in an upright position. We'll be cruising at an altitude of thousands and thousands of feet, so if you're scared of heights, I suggest you keep your eyes closed," he announced over the intercom as he flicked switches and readied the plane. Hannibal slipped into the co-pilot's seat and nodded.

"Ready, captain," he said just as BA yelled from the door of the plane.

"We got company!"

"Here we go!" Murdock blurted, flicked a couple more switches and the propellers on the wings sprang into life, and he started the plane rolling.

Of course that alerted the airport ground crew, and within seconds, the C130 was being chased by armed men, Esteban and his goons, all shooting at it.

"Get us out of here," Hannibal urged, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He looked behind him to see BA scared rigid with his finger nails practically drilling into his arm rests. Rosanna and Miguel equally wide eyed with fear as the noise of the bullets hitting the fuselage sounded loud over the roar of the engines.

"C'mon, baby," Murdock murmured, his hands grabbing the yolk and pulling back for all he was worth. "Come on, baby! Here we gooooo!" And the plane lifted off the runway, leaving a crowd of angry men behind in the back-draft of its wake.

Esteban stared helplessly as his cargo plane disappeared into the night sky; his plane, his whore and his cocaine all slipping away from him. He didn't even think about Gloria or the children, and the fact that she was a material witness to a murder by his hand. No. If he didn't get Korsakov his ten million dollars worth of cocaine within – he checked his watch – the next twenty minutes, the Russian was going to kill him anyway.

He climbed back into his car and sat silently fuming. He was in deep,_ deep_ shit.

ooo

Once in the air, Hannibal moved back into the body of the plane to check on his lieutenant, followed by BA as sitting in the cockpit of a C 130 with Murdock was his idea of a nightmare. Face was still unconscious, delirious with fever and so, so hot, despite the cool temperature of the plane and the ongoing rumble of the engines.

"Rosanna, can't you give him anything?" he asked the nurse, who was staring wide eyed in shock at nothing and still clutching at the cargo nets for dear life. Hannibal nudged her and she jumped.

"Wha'?"

"I said, is there anything in your bag that can help Face," he growled when she just looked blankly at him. He grabbed her bag and blew out a frustrated breath.

Dressings, antiseptic lotion, morphine, strong sedatives and syringes, a half empty packet of gum, and a miniature bottle of vodka were the sum total of contents. Hannibal sighed and turned to Miguel.

"You been on these runs before?" he asked. Miguel nodded. "What about supplies, then? Water?"

Unbuckling his belt, Miguel scrambled to the rear of the plane, bypassing Martine, who was secured to a bench with a sturdy cargo net and bindings and still out for the count, and came back with an armful of bottled water. Hannibal handed one to BA, who took it with shaky hands, and Miguel gave one to Rosanna before heading up to the cockpit to offer Murdock one.

Hannibal gently lifted Face's head into his lap and stroked his dirty, sweat soaked hair from his brow. "Hey, Tem, can you wake up for me?" he murmured softly. Face moved his head into the soft touch and moaned. Hannibal opened a bottle and carefully tipped a little of the water into Face's mouth. "Come on, kid, drink some."

Movement caught his eye, and Hannibal looked up to see Rosanna kneeling by him with a damp cloth, gently cleaning Face's wrists. "Tip his head almost upright," she suggested. He looked down again and very gingerly urged Face's head upright and tipped the bottle again. To Hannibal's relief, Face started swallowing small amounts.

"These cuts are bad, Señor Smith," Rosanna murmured as she applied a little of the antiseptic lotion. Hannibal looked up as Miguel emerged from the cockpit.

"Miguel, what about a first aid kit?" he asked, and in seconds, the man returned with a small box. Rosanna opened it.

"Apart from a suture kit, there is nothing else here that can help him," she sighed and looked at Face.

"Okay, stitch what's needed and see to his belly," Hannibal nodded. He'd see to Face's thigh himself as soon as the kid had had some more water. He nudged the bottle against the kid's lips again. "Tem, drink," he urged softly.

Long minutes later, Face's wrists, the long knife slash on his stomach and the small lacerations on his face were cleaned and dressed, and Rosanna sat back on her heels looking at Hannibal's wrists. He followed her gaze and winced when his own shredded skin chose that moment to hurt like a son of a bitch.

He allowed her to dress them, and was grateful for the tender touch.

Her attention was warned off however when Rosanna tried to touch BA's ankle. The big guy growled at her, and she backed away so fast she landed on her butt with a thud. Hannibal chuckled and shook his head. He'd look at that ankle later himself, but first, he had to see to Face's thigh.

BA watched silently from his seat as Hannibal and Rosanna carefully pulled off the badly soiled dressing from the kid's leg, and as soon as the big guy saw the puffy, open, weeping wound, he jerked to the side and threw up.

"Aw man," he huffed harshly and limped back into the cockpit to join Murdock – testament to how terrified he was if he was up front with the pilot again!

Hannibal winced at BA's reaction, but at the sight of Face's thigh, he nearly threw up himself. It was bad.

"Oh, Face," he whispered and gently stroked back the limp curls.

"I can't suture this," Rosanna said inspecting the mess. It was clearly infected. "He really needs it draining and cleaning, and a couple of bags of antibiotics and fluids."

"Well, we don't have them, so we do what we can," Hannibal frowned, took a cloth and poured water onto the leg, cleaning away the bulk of the mess with gentle swipes. Face didn't even flinch. The cauterised tissue pulled apart and the wound oozed pus. Hannibal wiped it away and poured more water on it.

When Esteban had stabbed the knife into the wound, it sliced the soft tissue of muscles, but luckily it didn't look like it scraped the bone, and with time and lots of TLC, Hannibal prayed that the kid would be alright.

He just needed to fight the infection.

A good fifteen minutes of gentle, slow, thorough cleaning later, Rosanna held Face's leg up while Hannibal wrapped a huge bandage around it.

The colonel sat back, wiped his hands and watched Face struggle to breath. His lungs rasped with every breath and he carefully probed the kid's chest.

"When I did the CPR, I felt some of the ribs shift," Rosanna said watching him.

"Yeah, I can feel at least three cracked ribs, maybe one broken." He leaned down to listen to each side of the kid's chest. "The lungs are still inflating, so that's good, but they're rattling."

Rosanna listened for a moment. "It's a build up of phlegm," she murmured and gently palpated his belly. "His stomach is tender and hot, but it's not distended anywhere, so I don't think he has any internal bleeding. He's very lucky." She remembered the state he was in when Esteban had left him and shuddered.

"Lucky?" Hannibal laughed humourlessly, wiping his face with another wet rag. He put his hands up to the side of his nose and gently manipulated it. The cartilage grated, and he winced as he realigned it. "You call what that bastard did to Face, lucky?"

Rosanna handed him a dry rag, and the colonel wiped his nose. "I'm sorry, I meant... after what he'd done, it's just amazing the lieutenant isn't more seriously hurt. That's all," she mumbled.

Grabbing a bandage from the first aid box, Hannibal lifted Face slightly and wrapped his ribs, busying himself because he really wanted to slap the bitch for being so matter of fact.

Face had been tortured. _Killed_, for fuck's sake. He wasn't lucky, it was a fucking miracle he was still alive! He sighed. Once a Genoa, always a Genoa.

"Hannibal!"

The colonel whipped his head round at BA's shout and saw the big guy limping back to his seat near Face, look of absolute panic and alarm on his face. He hurried into the cockpit.

"Captain?"

"Um, bossman, we may have a problem," Murdock frowned, his blue-green eyes flitting across the expanse of dials and switches. Hannibal sat down and pulled on the headphones. He could feel the judders in the otherwise smooth flight, and hoped whatever the problem was, it wasn't _too_ bad...

"We, ah..." Murdock tapped a dial. "We're low on fuel."

Shit. Okay, so it was bad.

"Report," Hannibal said tersely.

"I think she was hit in the fuel tanks, boss, 'cause this baby is definitely flying on fumes and prayers right now," Murdock told him anxiously. Hannibal swallowed hard and tried to calm his thumping heart.

"How long, kid?" he asked. How long did they have until she went down?

Murdock looked out at the wings when one of the propellers died. "Half hour maybe?"

A propeller on Hannibal's side sputtered and died and the colonel snapped his head around to see the last, pathetic turn of the blades. "Shit!" He twisted around and shouted through to the back, "Miguel, Rosanna, secure Face and yourselves, and prepare for a crash landing, guys!"

BA's high pitched "What? You gotta be shittin' me!" rang around the plane as everybody worked frantically to prepare for an emergency landing.

"Okay, bossman, we're coming up on Jamaica," Murdock said, "We either try and land there, or pitch into the Caribbean Sea, but just to make things a little more interesting, the generous chaps in Maní alerted the international authorities, and this plane is to be taken into custody as soon as it's on the ground."

Well, that was just fucking great! So, landing on a nice, easy, flat runway at an airport was out of the question now. Hannibal's attention was alerted when a third propeller died, and Murdock quickly danced his fingers across the board flicking switches and shifting levers. His wide, serious eyes caught the colonel's and held them steadily as he said anxiously, "minutes, now, Colonel."

With a deep breath, Hannibal nodded. "Where you can, Murdock, get us down wherever you can."

And just as the plane approached land, the last propeller choked and failed, black smoke immediately trailing from the wing. Murdock engaged the extinguishers, but they were now just gliding on air.

"I'm gonna need help with her, boss," he said, nodding when Hannibal gripped the yolk hard and helped to keep the plane steady.

High pitched wailing drifted into the cockpit, and a quick glance saw Rosanna crying in fear, Miguel trying to comfort her through his own panic, and BA sitting with his eyes screwed tightly shut, his body rigid, absolute terror etched on his face. The lieutenant was still blessedly oblivious to their perilous predicament.

The plane descended rapidly over fields and trees, getting lower and lower, ears popping painfully from the extreme drops in air pressure, until the craft started to shake even more and the ground suddenly seemed to be rushing up to meet them at a frightening rate.

"There!" Murdock shouted, jaw set hard with the strain of holding tonnes of dead weight level with his yolk. He quickly snapped a lever that lowered the landing gear. "That clearing! I'll make for that clearing! Crash positions, everyone!"

Hannibal looked out of the window and saw nothing but the dark shadows of trees, but he trusted his pilot; as crazy as he was, and felt a strange kind of calm peek through the heart stopping panic that overwhelmed him, because he knew if he was going to have any chance of surviving a plane crash, he wouldn't trust anyone else at the controls.

"Hannibal, I need you to pull back as hard as you can," Murdock shouted over the din of rushing air and alarms. "Keep her nose up!"

And then they were in the hands of God and a crazy pilot.

"Pull, boss, pull!" Murdock ordered, and both men yanked hard on the yolks, muscles bulging, teeth gritting together until they hurt, eyes wide as the ground was suddenly right there. "Brace yourselves!"

The plane landed with a bone shattering jolt which slammed everybody on board forward, but they'd landed on the wheels and fairly levelly thanks to Murdock and Hannibal's straining efforts. It was a miracle. But, the plane wasn't stopping despite Murdock's desperate attempts to engage the plane's brakes.

"Murdock!" Hannibal panicked seeing the landscape whip by them as they were bounced and jerked ruthlessly in their seats.

"Hold on, bossman!"

An almighty, ear splitting noise crashed through the plane making the passengers gasp and look back to see the tail end breaking away, the structure twisting and tearing as easily as cardboard.

The sheer force of the craft's momentum barrelled it mercilessly across the rugged land at a terrifying speed, and the wheels sheared off, leaving the fuselage belly skidding and crashing violently over rocks and foliage. The noise was incredible as the metal strained and groaned under the onslaught. And then they hit the trees. With frightening force the wings were ripped from the body one by one, each time rocking the plane viciously from side to side, leaving a trail of utter destruction as the craft still ploughed on.

Hannibal and Murdock were showered in glass when the cockpit shattered, sparks flying over the dials, and loosely secured boxes and cargo were thrown about the body of the plane as if controlled by an unseen force until they tumbled out of the gaping hole, littering the trail behind them.

And amidst the chaos was the screaming. BA was terrified, alternately yelling out curses and praying to God, Rosanna just screamed, and Miguel sobbed out the Lord's Prayer over and over again.

Face and Martine missed the whole show!

When it finally came to a stop, the plane was nothing but a battered, demolished shell. No wings, no tail, no cockpit. But miraculously, they'd all survived.

Murdock straightened his headset and sighed shakily, "Thank you for flying Murdock Air, we hope you have enjoyed your flight. Please make sure you gather up all your belongings before you leave. If you can't find them, they could be anywhere between the Caribbean Sea and here; the middle of nowhere."

Hannibal sat paralysed and just stared at the huge branch that had smashed through the cockpit window. "Jesus Christ, Murdock, You did it! Good job, kid," he smiled at him, in total utter shock and awe. Murdock nodded. Sometimes he amazed even himself.

Grabbing a flashlight, Hannibal carefully climbed over the debris and made his way into the back, quickly made sure BA was alright, and then made straight for Face.

The seat belts and cargo nets had done their job, and Face was still secured to the seats. Hannibal placed his palm on the kid's face, unconsciously wincing at the heat, before finding his pulse and mentally tallying the rate. It was fast. He'd not sustained any more injuries in the crash though, thank God.

"You alright?" he asked Miguel and Rosanna, both nodded shakily back. Then Rosanna checked on her sister, who was still heavily sedated.

"You okay, Bosco? How's the ankle?" Murdock asked when he came through. He saw Hannibal busy fussing with Face, so knelt beside BA and pulled up the big guys pant leg.

"You crashed the plane, fool," BA grumbled.

"Now, now, Bosco, that's a grey area. Technically I didn't crash the plane," Murdock mused while he gently untied BA's boot. The man's leg was discoloured and puffy. It didn't look good, even in the muted torchlight. "Technically, one could say that the plane crashed itself, and I was just along for the ride."

BA sucked in a sharp, painful breath when Murdock eased his boot off. "Shit, easy, Murdock!"

"Sorry, big guy," the pilot murmured peeling off his sock, too. "Aw man, this looks really painful, Bosco."

"Looks? It _is_ painful, you crazy ass fool!"

"Can you wiggle your piggy's?" Murdock asked.

"Wiggle my what?"

"Piggy's. Toes!"

BA rolled his eyes and very gingerly moved his toes. Murdock smiled and blew out a sigh of relief. He looked around for the first aid box, found a nice, tight bandage and wrapped BA's foot securely.

"I hope it's not broken, but at the very least you did a real number on it, Bosco," the pilot said and sat back. "You got any Dilaudid left?" BA grunted an affirmative. "Take some."

Knocking back two pills with some water, BA grumbled again, "You still crashed the plane," which made Murdock smile.

The pilot then hurried to Hannibal's side, where he was trying get Face to wake up. "How is he, bossman?" he asked worriedly.

"Not good, Murdock," Hannibal sighed and unbuckled the last seatbelt. Face moaned as he was eased into a semi-reclining position. "How's BA's ankle?"

"Not good either. I wrapped it, but he's gonna have problems walking out of here on it."

Opening a bottle of water, Hannibal lifted Face's head and coaxed the kid to drink. "Where are we?"

"As far as I can tell, we're about ten kilometres inland. There's a town a good few K to each side of us. Could have a hospital. I can go scam us a vehicle, some supplies," Murdock suggested.

Hannibal wet a cloth and gently wiped his lieutenant's face, frowning at the heat of his skin as he considered Murdock's idea. It was dangerous, but they didn't have any other choice with Face seriously injured and BA incapacitated. He nodded, "Okay. Take Miguel with you."

"Ten four, bossman," Murdock saluted. Rosanna stood up with Miguel.

"I should go, too," she said. Hannibal shook his head. No way was he letting her out of his sight. She might have helped them escape, but he still didn't trust her. She frowned and pointed at Face, "I'm a nurse, I can get the correct medicine he needs."

"Write a list. Murdock can get it," Hannibal countered and she pouted, but quickly scribbled down a list of medication. Hannibal took the paper and looked it over. He recognised the names, and that was fortunate for her. He handed it to Murdock, adding, "Get IV supplies, too. You know the drill."

The pilot nodded and then frowned curiously as he was hit with a moment of déjà vu... six weeks ago, Tifton City Hospital, a similar list of drugs again for Face. He shook it off, grabbed Miguel and jumped from the plane. "We'll be back before noon," he called as they started to head off into the trees.

The sun was just starting to rise and it cast a warm glow across the devastation the plane had created when it crashed through the trees. Hannibal stretched and stepped outside, his sharp eyes sweeping the area for anything threatening.

They truly were in the middle of nowhere.

"BA, watch Face and the Genoa bitch," he called back into the fuselage as he grabbed Rosanna. She protested, but a quick stern look from the colonel shut her up fast. "We're just gonna do a perimeter check."

"Okay, boss," BA called back. He looked over at Face and Martine; they were still both out for the count, and he sighed. The Dilaudid was working and he felt the pull of sleep, but resolutely pushed it away. He'd sleep when they were home, safe.

The lush green landscape of Jamaica wasn't too dissimilar to the jungle where they'd just been, and neither was the heat, and before long, both Hannibal and Rosanna were soaked through with sweat.

"I've got to rest," Rosanna whined; she was tired, exhausted, hungry, and _did not_ want to be trudging through the wilds of Jamaica! In a stubborn fit of petulance, she sat down and slipped off her shoes, seriously unsuitable for the terrain, and rubbed her sore feet. Hannibal blew out a frustrated breath, dragged his hand over his face and backtracked. He picked up her shoes, frowned disapprovingly, and then snapped the three inch heels off them.

"There, now, get your ass up and come on," he muttered in a tone that left no room for argument. She glared open mouthed at the man, but begrudgingly slipped her feet into the newly improved footwear and moodily carried on.

ooo

The nearest town to where they'd crashed proved productive, much to Murdock's relief. They traded Miguel's gold Rolex (a gift from Esteban that Miguel was happy to donate) for a truck, and stealthily pilfered what they needed for Face from the local medical centre.

Murdock was slightly put out that he didn't have to scam anything; he always had fun with Face during their scams together, but the overriding need to get back to his team superseded any disappointment he felt.

The truck was old, and the roads were bumpy, and that made the ride uncomfortable, but as Murdock checked a map for the best route back, his brain suddenly remembered the joke he'd told Face a few weeks ago, shortly after the whole appendix episode, and he laughed out loud. Miguel looked blankly at him, as if the man had lost his mind.

"You wanna hear a joke, Miguel?"

Miguel blinked. The man _had_ lost his mind! He nodded cautiously.

"Okay, it's a good one," Murdock grinned. "What do you get when you mix PMS with a GPS?"

The truck bounced and Miguel reached for the dash to steady himself. He looked at Murdock who was waiting for him to guess the answer and shook his head.

"A crazy bitch who _will_find you!" Murdock laughed, throwing amused looks Miguel's way. "Get it?"

"Um, yeah," Miguel forced out a laugh. "It's funny, GPS, crazy bitch..." But he didn't have a clue what PMS or a GPS even were. Murdock carried on laughing regardless.

ooo

BA checked the time; it was approaching 0830, and the warmth of the sun was slowly heating up the still air inside the plane. He felt sticky and uncomfortable, and carefully hobbled over to Face to loosen his clothes and pull back the blanket. Face moaned at the touch.

"Hey, Faceman. How're you feelin'?" he murmured softly and placed his huge hand against the lieutenant's forehead. He frowned; kid was still burning up.

"Mmms'hot," Face slurred. BA opened a bottle of water, gently tipped Face's head up and trickled a little into his mouth.

"Drink, Face," he urged. Bruised blue eyes opened and the big guy smiled.

"...s'han'bal...?"

"Where's Hannibal?" BA repeated. Face nodded. "He's checkin' the perimeter. He'll be back soon."

Face turned his head from the bottle and moaned softly as nausea washed over him. He swallowed carefully and licked his raw lips. "Still... Est'ban's place?"

"Nah, man, we in Jamaica," BA grinned down at his friend, gently stroking back his limp hair. Face closed his eyes as the darkness pulled him under again. He didn't know whether to believe BA, he didn't really know much of anything. All he knew was that he hurt, and it was hot... _really_ hot.

"That's so sweet, I think I'm going to be sick."

BA stiffened at the sarcastic feminine voice, his mouth curling into a hateful sneer. He slowly turned to see Martine Genoa scowling at him, her dark eyes wide and full of contempt.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, bitch," he growled and she pursed her lips and brooded sulkily.

"BA?" Hannibal said as he climbed back aboard the plane and grabbed a bottle of water, his eyes flicking first to Face, then to Martine. They stayed locked with the woman's. "See you're awake now, Genoa," he grunted.

Martine ignored him.

"Just so you know, one wrong move and I will kill you," Hannibal threatened seriously, his mind flashing back to the hospital and Face bleeding on the floor of that family lounge with his guts nearly falling out. She looked up at him silently, her eyes widening slightly in fear, and then scowled and looked away again. Having given her all the attention she deserved, Hannibal then turned back to BA, "How's Face?"

"Woke up an' drank a little, but his fever still burnin' him up, man," BA murmured softly. Hannibal knelt beside the kid and felt for his pulse.

"Did he say anything?"

"Not much," BA frowned. "Asked for you, asked where we are, but I don't think he heard me."

Hannibal closed his eyes. His boy woke up and asked for him, and he wasn't there. He cupped the kid's face and gently thumbed the hot cheeks. "Face?"

A fevered roll of washed out blue eyes was all he received as an answer.

Rosanna sat by her sister and watched in silence, ignoring the lethal glare Martine was throwing her.

ooo

Just after 1100, Murdock rolled up with the truck and supplies. BA, now sat outside dozing with his ankle elevated, opened his eyes and laughed shaking his head at the ancient Ford.

"Hey, Bosco! What d'ya think of the truck?" Murdock shouted as he dragged the bag of supplies from the rear seats. Miguel juggled two sacks of food in his arms and closed the door with his foot.

"I hope you didn't pay for it," BA chuckled, his mechanic's eyes instantly spotting rust damage, bald tyres and a leaky radiator.

Murdock shook his head. "Nope, swapped it for a watch," he said, deciding not to mention that the watch in question was worth about twenty thousand dollars. BA chuckled again, hobbled over to the front and opened the hood.

He was met with a hiss of steam and sighed.

"Don't be such a grumpy mudsucker, Bosco, it's just gotta get us to the marina... they charter yachts," he winked, eyes twinkling, and handed BA a small bunch of banana's for breakfast. Sailing back home sounded just the ticket after this fucked up mission.

Inside the plane, Rosanna was sat with Martine in the wreckage of what was left of the back, after Hannibal had moved her, trying to persuade her to eat, while he was busy with Face.

Rosanna had offered to set up the IV, since she was a nurse, but Hannibal refused to let her touch Face. Her comment about how lucky he was still bothered him.

Cleaning the back of Face's hand with an alcoholic wipe, Hannibal quickly inserted the IV himself, opening the flow to maximum, and hung the first litre of fluid up. He scanned through the medications Murdock had brought and picked out the one he recognised as a broad spectrum antibiotic, filled a syringe, and then injected it into the IV port.

Murdock knelt beside him. "How's he doin', Hannibal?"

"Not good," Hannibal murmured as he pulled out supplies to redress the wound on Face's thigh. He handed the pilot a bottle of sterilized saline solution and a handful of gauzes, "hold these."

Unwrapping the bandage slowly, Hannibal grimaced as the thing snagged Face's skin a couple of times. The wound looked slightly better, if only a little cleaner than before, but it was still bad.

"Pour the solution into the wound slowly," Hannibal instructed and carefully began to wipe away more of the puss and infection. Face moaned softly and Murdock grabbed his hand, giving Hannibal a worried look when the kid squeezed back.

"Sorry, Facey, we're nearly done," he reassured him when Face stiffened and bit back a cry. Hannibal gently pressed the wound and drained as much infection as he could, cleaning as he did so, and tried to ignore the way Face was now shaking in pain.

"You're doin' good, kid, just a little longer," Hannibal murmured and pressed again. More blood tinged puss oozed.

"Ahhhno... stop, please, boss..." Face gasped, tears streaming from his eyes. Hannibal swallowed hard and steadfastly finished what he was doing, hating every moment he caused his boy pain. But it had to be done.

"I'm sorry, kid," he whispered and again he pressed down. The pain became too much for Face and his eyes rolled back.

"He passed out, boss," Murdock sniffed, his own eyes wet with tears for his friend's pain. Hannibal took a deep shaky breath and hurried up, taking advantage of the opportunity to really clean the wound thoroughly.

Five minutes later, it was done, liberally slathered in antibiotic lotion and redressed. Hannibal sighed and sat back, wiping a shaky hand over his mouth. It broke his heart to hurt his boy like that. Murdock placed Face's hand by his side and stood up, squeezing Hannibal's shoulder in comfort. No words were exchanged, they didn't need to be.

"Thanks, Murdock," the colonel murmured, "Get some rest."

Murdock nodded knowing too well that while Face was injured and in pain, Hannibal wouldn't rest, so he joined BA outside to see if he needed help with the truck. He'd rest when they were home safe, too.

Hannibal stared at Face for a moment. He just wanted to will all his pain away, the kid had been through so much, and leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against his hair as the memories of the last few days played out vividly in his mind again.

His brave boy, tortured and _murdered_ in front of him... that sadistic, perverse maniac getting pleasure out of making Face scream in pain. And what did Hannibal do? Nothing. A big, fat _nothing_! He'd just sat there and kept his fucking mouth shut, didn't say a word. Not one word, until it was too late... He would never forgive himself for what Face had gone through, even if the boy stubbornly forgave him.

And Hannibal really hoped that Face would.

He screwed his eyes shut and curled his fingers into bloodless fists, and wished, _wished_ that he could go back and rip the fucker's throat out for what he'd done.

"Colonel?"

The quiet Texan drawl snapped Hannibal out of his funk and he looked up to see Murdock frowning worriedly at him. He sighed.

"I thought I told you to go rest, Murdock," he mumbled debating whether to argue his point.

"Yeah, I know, boss," Murdock shrugged sheepishly. He glanced at Face before changing the subject, "They charter yachts at the marina on the coast," he said softly and sat down by Hannibal. The colonel sighed knowing he'd lost his argument before it had even begun, and took the water and fruit he was offered instead with a nod and a murmured "thanks." Murdock smiled and pulled out a flyer. "The boats are ocean worthy, and I'm sure we'll be able to sail one all the way to the US, maybe drop anchor offshore in Florida close to the beach where it's shallow enough to wade onto land. Avoid the US customs an' the pesky police, y'know?"

Taking the flyer, Hannibal grinned, and for the first time in days wished he had a cigar to chew on as a plan slowly came together in his head. Kill two birds with one stone; get home safely _and_ hand over the Genoa bitch and her wayward sister to the authorities by neatly reporting the whereabouts of a 'borrowed' yacht (with the two women securely tied up on board). The infamous Templeton Peck wasn't the only conman extraordinaire on the team, even if he was the most talented. Hannibal had a couple of crazy ideas hidden away, too.

He looked down at his conman and the smile faded a little. He wished the kid was awake to scam them a boat. He just wished the kid was awake and okay.

ooo

Rosanna Genoa sat by her sister up against the twisted shell of the plane. They were in the shade and as far away from the guys as Hannibal would allow; as near to them as he could stand – whichever came first.

Martine didn't care either way, and she sat quietly fuming, watching everyone work around the truck, packing shit into it, and fuss over the poor little lieutenant... She felt nauseous seeing how they all worried so much for him.

Stupid fuckers.

Screw the reward, they deserved to die. _He _deserved to die for killing her Jerry, and for fucking up her life with Emilio, even as bad as it was.

And what about her traitorous sister? Martine slid her eyes over to Rosanna and scowled at the pleading look on her face as she tried to make her drink that stupid, warm water.

"I don't want it," Martine hissed again.

"Please, Martine, you need to drink," Rosanna said. "You'll get dehydrated."

Martine twisted her mouth. "Why the hell do you care if I get dehydrated?" she growled bitterly.

Tears sprang to Rosanna's eyes, "I care, Martine." She gently rubbed her sister's arm. Despite the fact that Martine had threatened to kill her, she was still her sister.

"Get off me, you traitorous bitch," Martine hissed. "If you care-"

"I do," Rosanna interrupted eagerly.

"Then undo the knots and let me go free."

"Um..." Rosanna blinked, quickly glanced over to Hannibal who had his head in the truck talking with BA, and then turned back to Martine. "I... I don't-"

"I thought you said you cared," Martine said, softly this time, with emotion, misplaced as it was.

"I do care, Marty," Rosanna repeated with feeling. "But-"

"Please," Martine whispered. "Remember when we were little? And what I did for you?" Rosanna bit her lips and sunk back, nodding. "When Uncle Roberto wanted to do those things to you, and I stopped him? What did I do, Rosy?"

Rosanna leaned in closer, her body shaking slightly. "You let him do those things to you instead," she murmured.

"That's right," Martine shuddered, the memories still stinging, and plastered on a fake smile. "So, you owe me. You and me, Rosy... We're a team. You and me against the world. Right?"

She knew she'd won when Rosanna nodded and gave in, like she always did. It was true; Martine had saved her from a fate worse than death. Their Uncle Roberto had done unspeakable things to Martine, things that the girl had saved Rosanna from. So yes, she owed Martine her life.

"Undo to knots, Rosy, and we'll slip away quietly. No one needs to know. We'll stay here wherever we are, or we can go wherever you like. Your choice. Just me and you, Rosanna, together."

The smile on Martine's face morphed into a twisted sneer of hatred as Rosanna ducked behind her to tackle the tight knots of the rope binding her hands. It had nearly made her sick trying to make nice with the bitch, the traitorous bitch, but she'd do whatever she needed to do to survive.

Of course she had no intention of leaving with Rosanna; as far as she was concerned, the woman was already dead to her. No, Martine was going to exact her revenge on the men that had wronged her, kill her bitch sister, and then find a rich man and marry him, and live the life she wanted.

"I can't undo these, Martine," Rosanna muttered with a frown. She knelt back, "I'll have to find a knife."

Martine nodded, smiling sweetly, "Okay, Rosy, but hurry, please."

Hannibal and Murdock were just placing Face onto a makeshift bed in the back of the truck when Rosanna approached them. Hannibal looked at her questioningly.

"Ah, make sure his leg is elevated," she advised, ignoring the eye roll from Murdock who was already doing that.

"Get the first aid supplies from the plane," Hannibal told her, before she opened her mouth again. Rosanna nodded, secretly relieved that she had an excuse to be inside the plane, so she could find anything sharp, preferably a knife, to free Martine.

She came back outside with the supplies, which she placed on the truck bed and a small, sharp piece of metal hidden in her bra.

"Did you get it?" Martine asked when Rosanna dropped beside her. The woman nodded and quickly released the knots.

"Okay, let's go, Marty," Rosanna whispered urgently when Martine was free.

"Not yet, too soon."

"What? Why?"

Because Martine wasn't planning on going anywhere! Instead she said, "Wait 'til they're busy with the lieutenant in the truck, then we'll slip away."

But Hannibal was way past that, and the truck was loaded, Face was comfortable, and it was time to get the women in the back seat and then go.

Rosanna watched wide eyed as Hannibal grabbed Martine and hauled her to her feet. The woman pretended to still be securely tied, and it unfortunately fooled the colonel who realised a second too late when Martine twisted sharply, grabbed the gun from the waist band of his pants and jammed the barrel into Hannibal's kidneys.

"Get out of the fucking truck and throw your weapons on the floor!" she screamed roughly shoving Hannibal forward. Rosanna stared shocked, paralysed to the spot. This wasn't what they'd planned!

BA whipped his head around and saw Hannibal, hands up, Genoa's finger tight around the trigger of the colonel's gun, and slowly dropped his weapon to the ground before hopping out of the truck on one foot and leaning heavily on the door. Miguel, hands high in the air, eased himself out of the opposite side of the cab and in a fit of fear, ran and disappeared into the dense Jamaican bush. Martine laughed maniacally as Murdock cautiously jumped off the truck bed with his gun held lightly between his finger and thumb, carefully laying it on the dry grass.

"What are you gonna do, Genoa?" Hannibal asked coldly. "We're in the middle of nowhere, with no money. You're a wanted fugitive-"

"Thanks to you, _bastardo_!" she snarled. "Rosanna! Get over here and pick up the guns!"

"You gonna kill me, bitch?" the colonel growled as Rosanna hurried around picking up their weapons, watching carefully when the woman handed them all to Martine.

"Oh yes, I'm going to kill you," Martine sneered, pushing Hannibal to the side and with her guns trained lethally on them, edged around towards the back of the truck where Face was. "But I'm going to put a bullet in between Lieutenant Peck's eyes first. Payback for what you did to me!"

Hannibal swallowed hard. He could see Face was still unconscious and vulnerable, and Genoa was going to kill him... just like the last time. His heart screamed in fear, his mind working fast.

Wide eyes of the pilot caught his and then flicked over to BA's. They knew with the ankle injury, the big guy was severely hampered, and Hannibal was too far away from the truck, but they had to do something, and in a fraction of a second, the three men conveyed a short and hasty plan without a single word uttered.

Face felt the truck jerk as Murdock jumped off, startled awake by a subconscious sense that something was wrong. His head swam and he couldn't focus well, but he could hear the accented tones of Martine Genoa threatening his team.

He knew Hannibal well enough to know the man had a plan, however reckless it was, up his sleeve, and in his sluggish, fevered mind, knew that a distraction, even a small one, could mean the difference between success and failure.

And he really needed Hannibal to succeed!

Listening as hard as he could with his wavering hearing, Face pulled in a deep breath and steeled himself. He heard the sharp intake of breath and the telltale cock of a gun a second away from firing, and instantly vaulted upright, grabbing his blanket and throwing it in to the air.

Murdock gasped when Martine cocked one of her guns and aimed it at Face. In his peripheral vision he could see that BA and Hannibal were about to snap and jump into action, and before the bitch could kill his best friend in the whole world, Murdock leaped into her line of fire...

...right at the same time that Rosanna screamed and charged at her sister, just as Face surprised them all by sitting up and tossing his blanket towards them.

In a few seconds of absolute frantic mayhem, Rosanna and Murdock crowded Martine, screaming and shouting, as Hannibal tried to grab for the guns... And then shots rang in the air. Two of them.

BA, one hand gripping his gun again, the other hanging on the truck, froze instantly in fear. Face, sitting swaying on his makeshift bed, jerked in shock, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed, and Hannibal looked up and sucked in sharp breath.

In that moment, Hannibal couldn't breathe, couldn't think... all he could see was his lieutenant lying deathly still in the back of the truck. Martine had done it; she'd killed Face.

For the second time in as many days, Hannibal had seen his friend die before his eyes, and he felt his heart shudder to a stop and his chest seize.

But then, the momentum of Martine and Murdock both falling to the ground startled him out of his shock to see BA scrambling up to get to Face, and then he registered the warm, coppery stickiness spreading on the front of Martine's chest.

"He's okay, Hannibal, Face is okay," BA called with palpable relief. The big guy's words slowly sunk in, and Hannibal blew out a shuddering breath. Face was okay, he was safe, and he was still alive... he wasn't dead... And with a renewed burst of energy born of utter relief and absolute anger, he shook himself into action, grabbed the guns and tossed them to the side, and then placed two fingers against Martine's throat. No heartbeat; she was dead, and he reached up and closed her eyes.

Rosanna sat stunned, tears streaming down her face; her sister was dead. What was she going to do now? Her shaking fingers curled around the gun she suddenly had in her hand, her cold, dark eyes moving to the colonel...

"Bossman?" Murdock murmured. Hannibal nodded, wiping a hand over his face.

"She's dead, Murdock," he confirmed.

"Tha's good," the pilot gasped painfully, and Hannibal whipped his head around to see Murdock clutching at his stomach, blood oozing through his fingers.

_Two_ shots. Two shots were fired... shit!

"Jesus, kid, lemme see," Hannibal said already gently prising the fingers away. He grimaced when Murdock sucked in a breath and yelped. "Sorry, Murdock..."

"It's just a scratch," Murdock muttered, screwing his eyes shut when Hannibal carefully turned his body slightly.

"Bullet went through, kid, hit muscle," the colonel said with relief. "You'll be okay, son." He pulled off his shirt, bunched it up and pressed it against the wound.

"Owww... are you sure?" Murdock gasped, "'Cause that _really_ hurts."

"Yeah kid, I'm really-"

"Drop it, bitch," BA suddenly snarled loudly from the truck just before he pulled the trigger of his weapon. Hannibal and Murdock recoiled at the sound of the gun shot and snapped their eyes towards Rosanna just as she fell, bullet hole between her eyes, gun in her hand still aimed right at Hannibal.

"Jesus, bossman," Murdock whistled shaking his head. Fucking Genoa Bitch #2! Hannibal stared at the woman. Even though he didn't trust her, after what she'd done to help them he really thought Rosanna was capable of maybe turning over a new leaf and changing her life for the better.

How wrong he was. It just went to show that the great Hannibal Smith wasn't always a good judge of character, which was why he relied on Face. The kid could tell a bad egg a mile off.

His eyes widened and he grabbed Murdock's hand. "Here, press on this," he said before jumping up to see Face.

BA moved to the side as Hannibal quickly checked his lieutenant over, looking for holes he knew weren't there because BA had told him so, but he just had to make sure for himself.

"Face?" he whispered, his hands on the kid's face urging him awake. "C'mon, open your eyes for me."

The words floated towards Face through the swirling darkness, a voice that he knew; Hannibal... He followed the sounds and fought his way back, opening his eyes to see his colonel staring anxiously at him.

"Hi," he croaked barely audible, but it was enough because Hannibal smiled and sighed in relief. Face's eyes widened, "G-genoa..."

"Dead, Face, she's dead," Hannibal nodded, trying to find an ounce of remorse that the two women were dead because of them, and failing to. Face stared at him trying to process that information but not quite succeeding. "Go to sleep, kid," the colonel urged softly when Face blinked slowly and fought to stay awake, "You're safe now."

As soon as Face had passed out again, Hannibal jumped down to kneel by Murdock. BA had already seen to the wound and had dressed it with a secure bandage. Murdock looked up at Hannibal.

"Is Facey okay?"

"Yeah, he's sleeping," Hannibal smiled tightly. He carefully helped the pilot to stand and lifted him to settle down beside Face. Murdock immediately turned slightly and held onto his best friend's hand, careful of the IV.

BA hobbled to his feet and looked at the bodies of Rosanna and Martine. "We ain't gonna leave them there, are we?"

Bad guys or not, Hannibal agreed. The decent thing to do was to bury them. He sighed, but before he could even mention the word spade, they heard sirens in the distance. Both BA and Hannibal turned towards the noise and raised their eyebrows. They'd already been there a good six hours!

"Better late than never?" BA shrugged, and Hannibal smirked. New plan.

Grabbing BA's gun, Hannibal wiped the prints off it and placed it in Martine's right hand. He then picked up the two guns that had been fired in the scuffle, wiped them clean before placing one in Rosanna's hand, and the other in Martine's left.

It now looked like they'd killed each other, or Martine had shot Rosanna and then herself, depending on who got the weapon that shot Murdock. Either way, it gave the team more time to flee the island before the authorities decided to look closer at the crime scene and organise an island wide search for them.

They didn't like it, but it had to be done to give them the best chance of escape.

"Hey, bossman, you think we'll see Miguel again?" BA asked hopping into the truck. The colonel shrugged; that was doubtful. It was shame too, the Colombian was a good man.

Hannibal climbed into the driver's seat and quickly drove away, taking it as steadily as he could mindful of his injured passengers.

)()()(

The marina was full of yachts that spanned the wealth of classes from simple families vacationing to rich movie stars that owned the huge luxurious boats as status symbols.

Hannibal's plan was simple in its elegance, crude in its execution.

He scoured the boats from the security of the truck and picked out a modest one. BA followed his eye line and nodded.

"That one?"

"Yeah, looks in use," Hannibal murmured thinking of the supplies that were already, hopefully, on board.

The boat in question was a decent size, definitely sea worthy, and was currently being filled with diesel. It was called 'Jackie's Pride'.

"What's the plan, boss?" BA asked.

"We're going to borrow it. Simple," Hannibal grinned and BA groaned. The man was on the jazz!

They sat for a little while watching the marina, until two men emerged from the boat; one young and timid looking, the other fat and dressed like an over ripe pineapple. They were definitely a couple by the way the fat guy pawed tactlessly at his lover. They stepped off the boat and headed towards the bustle of the Jamaican tourist trade.

"Okay, c'mon," Hannibal nudged BA and jumped out of the truck. The marina was almost deserted, which was fortunate for them.

Grabbing as many supplies as they could manage, BA and Murdock made their way slowly to the boat, hanging on to each other and gritting their teeth through the pain of simply walking, while Hannibal, pack on his back, disconnected Face's IV and carefully lifted the man awkwardly over his shoulder, grateful that he was still deeply out of it because, with his injured ribs, the short journey for the kid would have been absolutely agony otherwise.

They looked like a rag tag group of refugee's but that didn't stop them...

...Until a small voice queried what they were doing.

Carefully lying Face on the plush covered bench in the well of the boat, Hannibal turned to see the young, timid man blinking at them from the wharf.

"Um, is your name Jackie?" Hannibal asked, confident smile on his face. The young man shook his head nervously, his eyes flicking from Hannibal, who looked like he'd had ten rounds with Mike Tyson, to Face, unconscious and looking like death warmed over. "Well, do you know where he is, young man?"

"H-he's at the Black Jack club, sir," stuttered the boy warily. "Can I help you?"

Hannibal smiled widely and planted his hands on his hips, his shirt (one of BA's) open and showing off his muscled but grimy chest. "I don't know," he mused, letting his eyes linger over the young man until he squirmed uncomfortably. "Name's Pasqual. I'm Jackie's evening entertainment."

The young man's eyes slipped to Face again and Hannibal deliberately moved in front of him. "Um... e-evening entertainment?" he asked, his voice hurt and verging on heartbroken.

"Yep! What's your name, sweet cheeks?" Hannibal twisted the knife, inwardly wincing at the crushed look on the boy's face.

"I...I-I-I-I... I'm gonna go get J-jackie. You w-wait here, okay?"

"Be right here, baby-cakes," Hannibal leered grabbing his crotch crudely, winking salaciously at the boy, and watched him hurry away. As soon as he was out of sight, Hannibal's smile slipped and he turned towards the cockpit.

"Murdock, get us outta here," he said quickly, checking on Face before grabbing the mooring ropes.

"Bosco!" Murdock shouted from the cockpit. BA, who had limped into the engine space, worked his magic.

"Okay, Murdock, try it now!"

The engines sputtered to life, and within thirty seconds, Murdock had manoeuvred 'Jackie's Pride' out of its dock and was heading into the Caribbean Sea.

Hannibal gave a last thought to the poor young man having to explain to Fat Jackie where his boat was, but quickly shrugged it off, and with his gun in his hand, the colonel did a quick sweep of the boat before he gathered Face up in his arms and took him through to the stateroom, laying him gently on the huge bed, thankfully made up with fresh bedding. Face mumbled and turned his hot head into the cool sheets, but didn't wake up. Hannibal reconnected his IV, added another antibiotic shot, and then left his lieutenant sleeping to check on their situation and see if they were safely away from danger.

Murdock, with a captain's hat that he'd found perched proudly on his head, sat stiffly at the helm, piloting the boat like a pro.

"Hey, Murdock, you okay?"

"Yeah, bossman. No hostiles on the port or starboard side, sir," Murdock smiled, tight lines of pain around his eyes. Hannibal patted his shoulder.

"Can you man this baby for a few more minutes?" he asked concerned at the paleness of Murdock's face. The pilot nodded. "Thanks kid. BA'll come relieve you."

Grabbing a pair of binoculars from the galley, Hannibal scanned the marina to see the young man, Fat Jackie and the harbour master arguing, but the sheer number of cruisers and yachts in the bay camouflaged 'Jackie's Pride' neatly, and soon they were nothing but a smudge on the horizon.

"Murdock, power up, get some distance between us and them now," he decided and headed down to the engine space. "BA?"

"Yeah, man," BA answered as he emerged, steak of oil on his already dirty face. "She's fuelled and will take us to Australia if we want," he said with a smile.

"Nah, just to the west coast of Florida will do," Hannibal grinned back helping BA hop up.

"Where's that crazy fool?"

"Driving the boat."

"You kiddin'! He needs t'lie down," BA exclaimed. "Help me up to the cockpit!"

Hannibal smiled and helped BA carefully manhandle Murdock from the captain's chair, and then slipped into the seat himself and shifted about until he was sitting comfortably and his injured leg was elevated.

"Go rest, crazy!" he barked at Murdock.

"Only if I get to keep the captain's hat," Murdock countered, but was already being assisted into the state room in the wake of BA's affectionate grumbles.

"Is he okay?" Murdock asked softly when he saw Face lying still on the bed.

"Yeah, he'll be fine, kid." Hannibal lowered Murdock to the mattress and grabbed the first aid kit. He lifted the pilot's shirt and carefully cut away his bandage.

"How is it?" Curious blue-green eyes peered down.

"You've had worse," Hannibal smiled carefully cleaning the wound and applying more antiseptic, to which Murdock hissed when it stung like fire, and then put on a fresh bandage. He looked up when he'd done to see Murdock looking pale and sweaty. "You want some painkillers?"

"Yeah," Murdock whispered tightly, nodding his thanks to the glass of water and two Tylenol that Hannibal handed him. He lay down again and looked at Face, stroking his fingers over the hot, dry skin of his forehead mindful of the bruises, murmuring worriedly, "This fever's gotta real hold on him, bossman."

"I know," Hannibal nodded. He was seriously worried about his lieutenant but he had to be strong for him, and the team. They weren't home and safe yet. He collected some more supplies and laid them out by Face's thigh, and then taking a deep breath, he began to very gingerly cut away the huge dressing, dreading what he might see.

But the infection looked finally under control, and the raw, weeping wound didn't look half as bad as it did before. Hannibal blew out a soft breath and started gently cleaning it, concerned that it still oozed a little pus, but pleased that that was it. He redressed it and sat back to see pale blue eyes watching him.

"Hey, kid," Hannibal smiled tiredly, but so happy to see Face awake.

"Hey, boss," Face sighed back.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mmm..."

"That good, huh?" Hannibal agreed. "Think you can manage some water?"

Face nodded and carefully sipped a little of the cool liquid, sighing softly when it soothed his parched throat. He flicked his eyes slowly around the room noticing the tasteful decor, huge bed and pristine clean sheets, until they landed on Murdock, who had fallen asleep through a combination of exhaustion and pain killers. A second later he saw the neat bandage around his friend's torso.

"Han... What...?"

"Hey, it's okay, kid, he's alright. He just caught a bullet, but he's alright," Hannibal quickly soothed Face before he worked himself up.

"Bullet?" Murdock was shot? When?

Hannibal frowned slightly. "Yeah, do you remember?" Face shook his head. "There was a fight, Martine was shot and killed-"

"She's dead?"

Jesus, how much did Face not remember? Hannibal nodded, "Yeah, she's dead," he said softly.

"Did she shoot Murdock?"

"Like I said, there was a fight, and she was shot, but Murdock caught one too," Hannibal finished. His chest tightened slightly when Face reached out and tentatively stroked the pilot's wild hair with shaky fingers, his IV trailing.

"He's gonna be okay?" he asked again, words slurring.

"Yeah, he is, kid. We all are," he smiled just as Face gave into the pull of sleep once more.

Satisfied his patients were sleeping comfortably, Hannibal went in search of food, and found cupboards packed with a variety of Jamaican goodies in the galley. He pulled out a huge dish of something that smelled both sweet and spicy from the fridge and stuck it in the microwave for a few minutes while he quickly washed up.

Tantalising smells drifted up to the cockpit and BA's stomach started growling loudly.

"Hungry, big guy?" Hannibal asked as he appeared with a plate full of food for the man. BA's eyes widened and he grabbed the plate and immediately started shovelling the food into his mouth. Hannibal chuckled and took hold of the wheel with one hand, eating his own with the other.

"Oh man, I'm starvin'!" BA stated around a mouthful. "S'good, Hannibal, thanks."

"You're welcome."

"How's Faceman and the fool?"

"Sleeping," Hannibal said softly, his stomach uncomfortably full already after just half a plate.

"They gonna be jus' fine, boss. You'll see," BA nodded. He finished his meal, burped loudly, rubbing at his satisfied belly, and looked at the colonel, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the pale skin. The man was clearly running on fumes now after days of worry and no sleep. "Hey, you get some rest and I'll keep watch," he suggested.

Hannibal considered it and nodded. BA was right, he did need rest, and while Face and Murdock were sleeping, now was a good time to grab a couple of hours shut eye. He checked his watch as he made himself comfortable in a plush seat in the cockpit. "Wake me in two hours, okay?"

BA nodded, although he was going to let Hannibal sleep as long as he could, and settled down behind the wheel again. He checked the map, turned their heading slightly, and smiled. At a steady speed, it was going to take a few days to sail to the west coast of Florida, and this beat flying any day!

ooo

The sound of ragged gasping breaths woke Murdock from his sleep, and he automatically looked over at Face. In the dim light he could see the man sweating profusely and struggling to breathe in the heat of the cabin.

"Facey?" he murmured placing his hand over the furred chest and frowning at the speed of the heart beat under his fingers. "Face, you okay?"

Face turned his head towards Murdock, his glassy eyes rolling dazedly, confusion clear.

"Hang on, Facey... Hannibal!" Murdock shouted, "Hannibal's comin', you just hang on... Hannibal!"

Hannibal startled awake at the call of his name, and he blinked in the darkness of the cockpit. He glared at BA, who just shrugged.

"I said two hours, BA," Hannibal groaned as he heaved himself off the chair.

"Nothin' was happenin', boss. 'Sides you needed the sleep," BA reasoned. Hannibal shook his head, rolled his eyes, and then quickly headed into the state room.

"Hannibal!"

"What is it?" he asked, fumbling around in the dimness for a switch by the door. He found it and the room flooded with light, his eyes immediately widening when he saw his lieutenant. Face was soaked through and clearly in distress.

He hurried over to him. "Face? Can you hear me?"

Face shuddered as his body shook uncontrollably. His fever had broken, and he was hot and cold, and dizzy and couldn't breathe...

"How long has he been like this, Murdock?" Hannibal asked trying to get Face to focus on him.

"Just a few minutes, boss," the pilot answered looking down when a hand suddenly gripped his tightly.

Hannibal winced when Face's eyes rolled back before his body jerked and started gasping for air again. "Shit," he muttered and grabbed the medical kit, pulling out a syringe and sedative. Murdock's eyes narrowed

"Um, boss, is that safe? I mean, looks like Facey's havin' trouble breathin' here," he queried worriedly. Hannibal filled the syringe regardless.

"Kid's fever broke, this'll just calm him down a little so his body can stop fighting it," he said sticking the needle into the IV port and injecting the contents. He then cupped his sweat soaked face and held him still. "Tem, listen to me," he murmured softly, "Close your eyes and concentrate on breathing..."

Face felt the sting in his hand, but his skin was burning with heat and ice, and his head pounded, but then he felt like he was floating. It was confusing until he heard Hannibal's soft voice... _concentrate on breathing_...

"That's it, kid, in and out," Hannibal urged, and within seconds Face calmed down and was breathing steadily. Hannibal sighed heavily and quickly fetched a bowl of water and a flannel from the small bathroom.

"Is he alright?" Murdock asked quietly, trying to sit up against the headboard.

"Yeah," Hannibal nodded gently wiping his lieutenant's face and chest with the cool, damp cloth. "He'll be just fine, now."

After replacing the IV fluids with a new bag and adding another dose of antibiotic, Hannibal then sat back and checked the wound on the thigh. It was looking much, much better. He hoped that Face was over the worst now.

"Hey, you hungry, Murdock?" he asked as he covered Face with a light sheet. The pilot's stomach grumbled in answer, and both men chuckled.

Ten minutes later, Murdock was settled in the cockpit with BA and a plate of food, and Hannibal was back in the state room with Face.

They'd dropped anchor for the night as the team took some much needed rest under a clear, star sprinkled night sky, with the moon reflecting softly on the water casting a low glow over the still, quiet world.

Hannibal stepped out of the small shower and looked at himself in the mirror, wiping his hand through the condensation to reveal a bruised and exhausted image looking back. He felt twice as old as he was, and looked it too. Padding naked into the state room, he searched through the drawers until he found a pair of boxers, sniffed them to make sure they were clean, and then slipped them on before making himself comfortable on a chair by the bed.

His eyes catalogued each new scar, every new injury, every bruise on Face's body; he'd been so hurt. He reached over and tucked a stray curl behind the boy's ear, tracing his fingers over the neat little row of stitches above his eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, kid," he murmured softly. Blue eyes opened and Hannibal smiled, "Hey."

"Hi," Face breathed sleepily.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Face sighed softly, "But better."

"That's good," Hannibal whispered.

Face smiled and looked around again, his eyes slowly moving about the strange but tastefully decorated room. "Where are we?"

"In the middle of the Caribbean Sea."

Face's brows rose. "Ah, that explains the floating feeling. I thought that was me." He frowned grinning, "You scammed a yacht?"

"Welll," Hannibal grinned back. Could borrowing be construed as scamming? Face just chuckled.

"It's a nice boat, boss," he murmured around a yawn.

"You ain't seen the cockpit yet," Hannibal winked. The cockpit was really plush with comfortable seats and a view of the ocean to die for. "Go back to sleep, kid, I'll be right here."

"Where's Murdock?" Face asked after a second when his brain caught up and he realised the pilot wasn't next to him anymore.

"He's with BA up top. He's fine," Hannibal nodded. "You sleep."

"Okay," Face slurred as he gave in and closed his eyes.

ooo

The next morning, the sun warmed the boat up and the rays streamed in through the portholes. Hannibal woke to the aroma of coffee and opened his eyes to see Face talking softly with BA.

"Mornin' boss," the kid smiled as BA handed him a mug.

"Thanks," he muttered and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He turned to Face, who looked a hundred percent better. "Morning, kid. You're looking more like your old self."

"I feel it," Face agreed and lifted a glass of orange juice to his lips and sipped it slowly. His colour had returned and his temperature had dropped down to just above normal. Hannibal smiled and sipped his coffee as Murdock hobbled out of the shower, towel loose around his hips just below the length of saran wrap covering his bandage.

"Hey buddy," Face smiled. "How was the shower?"

"Heavenly, Facey," Murdock sighed and carefully made his way across the room. Hannibal's eyes narrowed at the stiffness in Murdock's walk and stood up.

"Come on, captain, let's check that wound," he said and helped Murdock to the bed.

"No, it's okay, bossman, I'm okay, honestly," Murdock half heartedly protested. Face chuckled when BA hopped up and bodily, but gently, hauled Murdock onto the mattress.

"No good you laughin', Faceman, you next," BA growled, which instantly shut Face up. The big guy grinned and sat back. His team was together and whole again.

ooo

The next three days were easy sailing for the team across the Gulf of Mexico. By the second day, Face was well enough to shower and join them all on the deck, and he enjoyed his first light meal in days while soaking up the sun. He was looking better every day. Hannibal was still very protective though, and constantly checked Face for fever until the kid glared at him and warned him off with a spoon full of coconut and bean stewed rice.

They'd peeled off the name of the boat and renamed it 'Lucky Escape' with a permanent marker, and altered the registration identification to avoid awkward questions from any passing coast guard patrols.

The whole team were able to finally relax and enjoy the calming sounds of the ocean, and the way it gently rocked the yacht, and catch up on some much needed sleep.

On the third day, Murdock navigated the boat towards the popular and well used beach of Fort Myers on the west coast of Florida, and by early evening they dropped anchor in the shallow depths of the sea, easily blending in with the many other craft that had moored there for the night, too.

They decided to lay low until it was dark before they left the boat, and then Face and Murdock would mingle with the crowds on the beach, while Hannibal and BA hotwired a vehicle for their trip back to Daytona. But until then, Murdock and BA napped in the state room, the big guy's arm draped protectively across Murdock's back, the pilot sleeping fitfully, face buried snugly in BA's side. Face thought the whole scene was really sweet when he saw them, and he wished he had a camera.

Hannibal scanned the beach with the binoculars, smiling at all the young, scantily clad women and boisterous men all drinking and partying at beachfront bars. Once on shore, it would be a good cover.

Face hobbled up to him and took the binoculars with a smirk, "Getting a good look at the girls, Hannibal?"

"You know it," Hannibal grinned. Face laughed.

"Mmmm definitely pretty girls," he teased, laughing even more when Hannibal snatched the binoculars back.

"Yeah, all in good time, kid," the older man pulled back and sighed, his eyes instantly falling to the bandage on Face's thigh. He looked up again and saw the bruises on his boy's face, and closed his eyes as the guilt welled up in him again. Guilt that he felt for what Face had gone through, the torture he could have stopped but didn't...

"Face..."

"Okay, that's it," Face frowned. "We need to talk about it." Because Hannibal had avoided the issue for days now, and Face was getting scared.

Hannibal sighed and swallowed hard, trying to push down the fear inside that his friend might not be able to forgive that he let Esteban torture him so badly... let the bastard _kill_ him...

He'd tried to avoid the subject with Face as he didn't want the kid to relive it. _He_ didn't want to relive it, but his lieutenant was right. They had to talk about what happened because every time he saw the evidence of his guilt littered all over the kid's body, all he could think about was that room, Face hanging there and screaming in pain...

"Yeah, I know," Hannibal nodded and watched as Face carefully lowered himself on the plush seat, right arm pressed protectively over sore ribs and abdominal muscles. He sat opposite him and waited.

"You know what happened wasn't your fault, right?" Face said softly. Hannibal grimaced and looked away. "I'm serious, boss."

Shaking his head, the colonel turned back, "I could have stopped Esteban, kid," he whispered. "I could have just told him where his fucking cocaine was and-"

"No!" Face interrupted. "As I remember saying back there, it wasn't just the dope he wanted... and I won't trade my life for an innocent woman and her _children_."

"But I should have done something, _anything_ to stop him. I had to watch that bastard torture you, Face... _kill_ you in front of me!" He took a shaky breath, his eyes growing haunted, "You were dead..."

Face's heart broke as he saw the anguish replay over Hannibal's face. He'd told his colonel _not_ to tell Esteban anything. _He'd_ done this to Hannibal, made him watch the Colombian drug lord torture him...

"Oh God... I'm so sorry," he sobbed softly, tears slipping over his cheeks as the realisation hit him hard. Jesus, what had he done? How could he have done that to the man who was the closest thing to a father he'd ever had? "I'm sorry..."

Hannibal blinked confused before it dawned on him; Face thought it was his fault? "No, Tem, no..." He knelt beside his boy. "_You_ have nothing to be sorry for, kid. It was not your fault that he did this. It's Esteban's fault. You didn't do anything wrong..." Hannibal wiped Face's tears away and smiled sadly. "You were brave and courageous and I-"

"You had to watch him do it," Face finished quietly.

"Yes, I had to watch him do it because I kept my mouth shut and didn't stop him," Hannibal nodded. "Can you forgive me?"

A minute went by slowly, the noise of carefree beach parties drifting past them unnoticed, before Face smiled softly, "Only if you can forgive me."

The only person to blame was Emilio Esteban, and as both Hannibal and Face accepted that, they could finally start the healing of their damaged psyche... And their lives.

"You know we still have to have a long, long, _long_ talk about the advantages of medical leave and lying about being fit for work when we get home, don't you?" Hannibal said after a moment.

"Yeah, I know boss, and I'm looking forward to that. Really," Face said softly, repeating what he'd said before, but this time home wasn't a distant memory, it was a just few hours away.

ooo

In the state room, Murdock was sat on the bed looking anxiously at BA. "Well? Did they talk?"

"Shut up, fool!" BA hushed him from the doorway. It was hard enough listening without the crazy fool's jibber-jabber!

For the past three days, both BA and Murdock had been becoming more and more concerned with the two men and what had happened while that maniac had them. They didn't know the exact details as neither Face nor Hannibal wanted to talk about it, and that was the problem.

They _needed_ to talk before the guilt ate them up inside; because BA and Murdock knew them too well, and knew they were both feeling guilty as hell over what happened.

"Bosco!"

"Shut up or I'm gonna come over there an' shut you up!"

Outwardly, both Hannibal and Face appeared okay, but it was the faraway looks and the way Hannibal watched Face too carefully that worried the guys. That and the fact that the colonel seemed to avoid Face every time he tried to talk about it, and then the look of resignation on the kid's face like he expected the rejection... deserved it even...

"Well? C'mon, big guy, tell me!"

"Murdock, so help me God..."

But at last, finally, they seemed to be talking. If only BA could hear what they were saying!

"B! A!"

"Right, fool," BA growled, hopped back over to the bed and pounced on it, careful of the pilot's healing bullet wound. Murdock yelped and squealed with laughter when huge fingers found a ticklish spot under his arm. "I done warned ya!"

"No! No... Bosco! Uncle... Uncle!"

Chuckling, BA eased off and propped himself up on his elbow. "They talked," he told Murdock with a relieved smile.

"They did?"

"Yeah." Seeing Murdock wince as he sat up, he added, "You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Nah... You're a big cuddly teddy bear," Murdock grinned, laughing as BA narrowed his eyes and wiggled his fingers again.

They were happy. It was a huge relief that their team mates were finally on the mend.

ooo

With the moon high in the clear sky, Hannibal lowered the dingy to the water and loaded it with their supplies. It was time to go. BA helped Murdock into the small boat before steadying Face as he climbed in. Hannibal cast off and rowed them the short distance to the shore.

"Okay, you guys wait here while me an' BA go get us a car," Hannibal murmured as Face and Murdock both carefully sat down at the table of a noisy and busy bar.

The place was called the Lani Kai, and it was full of young people having a good time. A waitress, dressed in hot pants and a top that just about supported her ample bust, smiled at them sweetly.

"Hi guys, can I get you a drink?"

Face flashed a dazzling smile at her and she flushed, clearly taken by the handsome Ranger, despite the fact that he was still sporting some fairly spectacular bruises. Murdock chuckled and looked away as Face worked his magic; the girl didn't stand a chance!

"Couple of beers?" Face said, his voice velvety smooth. The girl licked her lips and smiled again.

"Sure," she exhaled heatedly, "Do you have a room number for a tab?"

A quick glance around proved lucrative when Face saw the fob of a Lani Kai room key hanging from the fingers of a cocky twenty-something-year-old trying to chat up a girl who was clearly not interested. "24, sweetheart."

The waitress narrowed her eyes and glanced up at the hapless guy now standing alone, before looking back at Face and smiling brightly. She knew the gorgeous man with the crystal blue eyes sat by her wasn't staying with the dork in 24, but by the time it came to pay the bar tab, the bleach blond loser wouldn't even notice a couple of extra drinks he never had. Plus, this total hottie was so charming, (and he was! An absolute dreamboat! Even if he did have a couple of shiners; that made him just look cool and exciting and deliciously dangerous...) _and_ he had a _mmmm_ sexy, fit body and she planned on keeping him, and his cute friend, around until her shift was over! "Okay, beers coming right up!"

"Man, Facey... you're so good at chattin' up the ladies," Murdock whispered when the waitress had gone. Face laughed and patted his friend on the back.

ooo

An hour later, after leaving a very disappointed busty brunette pouting at the bar, the team were cruising down the interstate in an SUV (with traded plates), headed back to Daytona. Hannibal drove while his boys slept, and by sunrise he was pulling onto the drive of their rented Daytona beach house, where he quickly jumped out, disappeared around the side of the property for a few seconds before returning with a bunch of keys.

"Home, sweet home. Rise and shine, boys!" Hannibal called as he rolled smoothly into the two car garage, switched off the engine and pressed the button to close the garage door behind them. BA opened his eyes and yawned, smiling when he saw his beloved van and his tools sat safely on the workbench.

Both Face and Murdock slept on. Hannibal smiled indulgently at the sight of Murdock leaning against Face fast asleep, and Face completely out for the count with his head back softly snoring. He decided to leave them while they opened up the house and unpacked.

"Man, it's good to be back," BA smiled stretching his aching muscles in front of the huge picture window of the living room, watching the sun rising over the ocean casting ripples of sparkles on the waves. Hannibal walked in with the back packs containing their weapons and dumped them in the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grimaced at the plate of stale food staring back at him. Shopping was definitely first on the agenda.

"It certainly is, BA," the colonel smiled standing next to him and taking a moment to enjoy the view, too. He handed the man a laptop, "Here, get us some groceries delivered. We're all out. I'm going to get the guys."

A few minutes later they were all sat around the kitchen table drinking soda and telling BA what to order from the local grocery delivery store.

"M&M's," Murdock said, "And those little cakes with the cream inside..."

"Twinkies?" Face provided with a grin.

"Yeah! Twinkies! And chocolate chip cookies, and chocolate mint choc chip ice cream and-"

"That ain't proper food, fool!" BA growled. Murdock looked affronted.

"But Bosco, me an' Facey need to get our strength up. We were shot!"

Shaking his head, BA gave in and smiled, and ordered the myriad of sugary crap that Murdock listed. Just this once, the big guy decided, he'd indulge his crazy friend... just this once.

Because ,truthfully, they all needed a little comfort food after the mission from hell they'd just had.

It truly was good to be home.

)()()()()()()()()()(

The sun was rising to the sounds of seagulls and the gentle roll of the ebbing surf, and it was already promising to be yet another beautiful day in Daytona, Florida. The cool early morning breeze drifted delicately into Hannibal's bedroom as he slowly woke up. He stretched and yawned, hauled himself out of bed and headed for the kitchen, and the coffee.

It had been weeks now since that hellish mission, and Face was whole again. He and Hannibal had spoken at length about what they both had to do in Colombia, and finally put it all to rest. Even the nightmares had lessoned significantly, especially after reading in the international news shortly after they'd got home, that Emilio Esteban, notorious Colombian drug lord had been found murdered in Bogota by, what police suspected was a Russian mob hit.

Hannibal remembered feeling a moment of anger when he'd read that, because he wanted to kill the bastard himself for what he'd put Face through, but after a look at his boy, alive and healing well, he pushed it right out of his mind to concentrate on the things that mattered now.

Miguel had resurfaced and was now happily living with Gloria and her children, who were safely with her father under new names, and a quick anonymous tip off to the authorities to where ten million dollars worth of Esteban's cocaine was buried closed the case neatly.

Both Face and Murdock had recovered well from their injuries, and BA's badly sprained ankle had thankfully healed nicely.

It was over.

Hannibal poured himself a mug of his favourite morning pick-me-up and inhaled deeply.

"Mmmm s'that for me, boss?" Face breathed sleepily from the doorway. The colonel handed the lieutenant his coffee and poured himself another.

"BA and Murdock up yet?" Hannibal asked, Face shrugged, wincing when the door opened and the pilot in question bounced in with a bag of sweet smelling breakfast pasties.

"Good morning chap's, thought we'd have a continental breakfast today," he grinned and started unpacking the croissants and 'pains-au-chocolat'. BA walked in then with a tray of coffee, looking very bleary eyed.

"Um, Murdock, we have coffee, buddy," Face pointed out, ignoring the groan from BA as he sat down.

"Not vanilla and caramel flavoured we don't," Murdock grinned, and then launched into an animated history of flavoured coffee.

"What time did he have you up, BA?" Hannibal asked in sympathy when the big guy's head thudded on the table.

"Before five," he grunted. Hannibal snickered softly and passed his_ plain_ coffee to BA, who sighed his thanks.

"Oh my God, Murdock, this is... this is _amazing_," Face enthused when he took a sip from one of the flavoured coffees. He held it towards Hannibal who immediately backed off at the pungent, sweet smell. "You gotta try this, boss!"

"Um, no thanks," he said quickly and stood up.

"Your loss," Face shrugged. "What flavour is this, Murdock?"

"Ah man, you don't wanna know," BA rolled his eyes.

The pilot stole a sip and thought a moment, "Butterscotch and a dash of cough syrup," he smiled, pulling the bottle of linctus from the bag and holding it up. Face froze with a mouthful of 'coffee', and then shrugged and swallowed.

"Yeah, pretty good!" he laughed and finished the drink. Hannibal shook his head and smiled at Face, finally able to put all those bad memories behind him. They'd had the 'talk', and Face had promised never to hide medical problems from him again, and it was a huge relief to see his boy finally healthy and pain free once more. Leaving his boys to their breakfast, he went to shower and change. He had an appointment to keep about a job.

ooo

Later that day, the team were sat in the kitchen talking when Hannibal walked in with details of their next job.

"Y'know, it's a real shame we didn't get to see Little Bastard," Murdock sighed, chin resting on his fist, a wistful smile playing on his lips. BA rolled his eyes.

"Done told you! That crazy bastard, Esteban, didn't have Little Bastard," he growled at the pilot before gulping down a mouthful of milk. Face bit his lip and looked up.

"Ah, well, actually guys..." he nodded apologetically raising a finger, and Murdock grinned. BA slammed his glass down.

"What? Awww man!"

Hannibal chuckled and handed each of them a file, smiling when Face eagerly opened his.

"Fee for this one is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, boys," he grinned around his cigar. This was the kind of work they liked.

The team was back in business.


End file.
